• 


!W 


IN  OLE  VIRGINIA. 


IN  OLE  VIRGINIA 


OR 


MARSE  CHAN  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

THOMAS  NELSON   PAGE 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1887 


COPYRIGHT,  1887,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &    Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


Co 

MY    PEOPLE 

THIS   FRAGMENTARY   RECORD 

OF    THEIR    LIFE 

IS  DEDICATED 


CONTENTS. 

f 

MARSE  CHAN.     A  TALE  OF  OLD  VIRGINIA        .       .      i 

"  UNC'    EDINBURG'S    DROWNDIN'."      A    PLANTATION 
ECHO 39 

MEH  LADY  :  A  STORY  OF  THE  WAR  .       .       .       .78 

OLE  'STRACTED 140 

"  No  HAID  PAWN  "        .       .       .       .       .       .       .162 

POLLY:  A  CHRISTMAS  RECOLLECTION      .       .       .187 


NOTE. 

THE  dialect  of  the  negroes  of  Eastern  Virginia  differs  totally  from 
that  of  the  Southern  negroes,  and  in  some  material  points  from  that 
of  those  located  farther  west.  » 

The  elision  is  so  constant  that  it  is  impossible  to  produce  the  exact 
sound,  and  in  some  cases  it  has  been  found  necessary  to  subordinate 
the  phonetic  arrangement  to  intelligibility. 

The  following  rules  may,  however,  aid  the  reader  : 

The  final  consonant  is  rarely  sounded.  Adverbs,  prepositions, 
and  short  words  are  frequently  slighted,  as  is  the  possessive.  The 
letter  r  is  not  usually  rolled  except  when  used  as  a  substitute  for  M, 
but  is  pronounced  ah. 

For  instance,  the  following  is  a  fair  representation  of  the  peculi- 
arities cited  : 

The  sentence,  "  It  was  curious,  he  said,  he  wanted  to  go  into  the 
other  army,"  would  sound  :  "  'Twuz  cu-yus,  he  say,  he  wan'(t)  (to) 
go  in(to)  'turr  ah-my." 


MARSE   CHAN. 

A   TALE   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 

ONE  afternoon,  in  the  autumn  of  1872, 1  was  rid- 
ing leisurely  down  the  sandy  road  that  winds 
along  the  top  of  the  water-shed  between  two  of  the 
smaller  rivers  of  eastern  Virginia.  The  road  I  was 
travelling,  following  "  the  ridge  "  for  miles,  had  just 
struck  me  as  most  significant  of  the  character  of  the 
race  whose  only  avenue  of  communication  with  the 
outside  world  it  had  formerly  been.  Their  once 
splendid  mansions,  now  fast  falling  to  decay,  ap- 
peared to  view  from  time  to  time,  set  back  far  from 
the  road,  in  proud  seclusion,  among  groves  of  oak 
and  hickory,  now  scarlet  and  gold  with  the  early 
frost.  Distance  was  nothing  to  this  people  ;  time 
was  of  no  consequence  to  them.  They  desired  but 
a  level  path  in  life,  and  that  they  had,  though  the 
way  was  longer,  and  the  outer  world  strode  by  them 
as  they  dreamed. 

I  was  aroused  from  my  reflections  by  hearing  some 
one  ahead  of  me  calling,  "  Heah  ! — heah — whoo-oop, 
heah!" 

Turning  the  curve  in  the  road,  I  saw  just  before 
me  a  negro  standing,  with  a  hoe  and  a  watering-pot 


2  In  Ole   Virginia. 

in  his  hand.  He  had  evidently  just  gotten  over  the 
"  worm-fence  "  into  the  road,  out  of  the  path  which 
led  zigzag  across  the  "  old  field  "  and  was  lost  to 
sight  in  the  dense  growth  of  sassafras.  When  I  rode 
up,  he  was  looking  anxiously  back  down  this  path 
for  his  dog.  So  engrossed  was  he  that  he  did  not 
even  hear  my  horse,  and  I  reined  in  to  wait  until  he 
should  turn  around  and  satisfy  my  curiosity  as  to 
the  handsome  old  place  half  a  mile  off  from  the 
road. 

The  numerous  out-buildings  and  the  large  barns 
and  stables  told  that  it  had  once  been  the  seat  of 
wealth,  and  the  wild  waste  of  sassafras  that  cov- 
ered the  broad  fields  gave  it  an  air  of  desolation 
that  greatly  excited  my  interest.  Entirely  oblivi- 
ous of  my  proximity,  the  negro  went  on  calling 
"  Whoo-oop,  heah !  "  until  along  the  path,  walking 
very  slowly  and  with  great  dignity,  appeared  a 
noble-looking  old  orange  and  white  setter,  gray 
with  age,  and  corpulent  with  excessive  feeding. 
As  soon  as  he  came  in  sight,  his  master  began  : 

"  Yes,  dat  you  !  You  gittin'  deaf  as  well  as  bline, 
I  s'pose !  Kyarnt  heah  me  callin',  I  reckon  ? 
Whyn't  yo'  come  on,  dawg?  " 

The  setter  sauntered  slowly  up  to  the  fence  and 
stopped,  without  even  deigning  a  look  at  the  speak- 
er, who  immediately  proceeded  to  take  the  rails 
down,  talking  meanwhile  : 

"  Now,  I  got  to  pull  down  de  gap,  I  s'pose  !     Yo' 


Marse  Chan.  3 

so  sp'ilt  yo'  kyahn  hardly  walk.  Jes'  ez  able  to  git 
over  it  as  I  is  !  Jes'  like  white  folks — think  'cuz  you's 
white  and  I's  black,  I  got  to  wait  on  yo'  all  de  time. 
Ne'm  mine,  I  ain'  gwi'  do  it ! " 

The  fence  having  been  pulled  down  sufficiently 
low  to  suit  his  dogship,  he  marched  sedately  through, 
and,  with  a  hardly  perceptible  lateral  movement  of 
his  tail,  walked  on  down  the  road.  Putting  up  the 
rails  carefully,  the  negro  turned  and  saw  me. 

"  Sarvent,  marster,"  he  said,  taking  his  hat  off. 
Then,  as  if  apologetically  for  having  permitted  a 
stranger  to  witness  what  was  merely  a  family  affair, 
he  added  :  "  He  know  I  don'  mean  nothin'  by  what 
I  sez.  He's  Marse  Chan's  dawg,  an'  he's  so  ole  he 
kyahn  git  long  no  pearter.  He  know  I'se  jes'  prod- 
jickin'  wid  'im." 

"  Who  is  Marse  Chan  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  and  whose 
place  is  that  over  there,  and  the  one  a  mile  or  two 
back — the  place  with  the  big  gate  and  the  carved 
stone  pillars  ?  " 

"  Marse  Chan,"  said  the  darky,  "  he's  Marse 
Channin' — my  young  marster;  an'  dem  places — dis 
one's  Weall's,  an'  de  one  back  dyar  wid  de  rock 
gate-pos's  is  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  Dey  don' 
nobody  live  dyar  now,  'cep'  niggers.  Arfter  de  war 
some  one  or  nurr  bought  our  place,  but  his  name 
done  kind  o'  slipped  me.  I  nuver  hearn  on  'im 
befo' ;  I  think  dey's  half-strainers.  I  don'  ax  none 
on  'em  no  odds.  I  lives  down  de  road  heah,  a  little 


4  In  Ole   Virginia. 

piece,  an'  I  jes'  steps  down  of  a  evenin'  and  looks 
arfter  de  graves." 

"  Well,  where  is  Marse  Chan  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hi!  don'  you  know?  Marse  Chan,  he  went  in 
de  army.  I  was  wid  im.  Yo'  know  he  warn*  gwine 
an'  lef  Sam." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  it  ?  "  I  said,  dismount- 
ing. 

Instantly,  and  as  if  by  instinct,  the  darky  stepped 
forward  and  took  my  bridle.  I  demurred  a  little  ; 
but  with  a  bow  that  would  have  honored  old  Sir 
Roger,  he  shortened  the  reins,  and  taking  my  horse 
from  me,  led  him  along. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  Marse  Chan,"  I  said. 

"  Lawd,  marster,  hit's  so  long  ago,  I'd  a'most  for- 
git  all  about  it,  ef  I  hedn'  been  wid  him  ever  sence 
he  wuz  born.  Ez  'tis,  I  remembers  it  jes'  like  'twuz 
yistiddy.  Yo'  know  Marse  Chan  an*  me — we  wuz 
boys  togerr.  I  wuz  older'n  he  wuz,  jes'  de  same 
ez  he  wuz  whiter'n  me.  I  wuz  born  plantin'  corn 
time,  de  spring  arfter  big  Jim  an*  de  six  steers  got 
washed  away  at  de  upper  ford  right  down  dyar 
b'low  de  quarters  ez  he  wuz  a  bringin'  de  Chris'mas 
things  home;  an'  Marse  Chan,  he  warn'  born  tell 
mos'  to  de  harves'  arfter  my  sister  Nancy  married 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  Torm,  'bout  eight  years  arfter- 
woods. 

"  Well,  when  Marse  Chan  wuz  born,  dey  wuz  de 
grettes*  doin's  at  home  you  ever  did  see.  De  folks 


Marse  Chan.  5 

all  hed  holiday,  jes'  like  in  de  Chris'mas.  Ole 
marster  (we  didn'  call  'im  ole  marster  tell  arfter 
Marse  Chan  wuz  born — befo'  dat  he  wuz  jes'  de 
marster,  so) — well,  ole  marster,  his  face  fyar  shine 
wid  pleasure,  an'  all  de  folks  wuz  mighty  glad,  too, 
'cause  dey  all  loved  ole  marster,  and  aldo'  dey  did 
step  aroun'  right  peart  when  ole  marster  was  lookin* 
at  'em,  dyar  warn'  nyar  han'  on  de  place  but  what, 
ef  he  wanted  anythin',  would  walk  up  to  de  back 
poach,  an'  say  he  warn'  to  see  de  marster.  An' 
ev'ybody  wuz  talkin'  'bout  de  young  marster,  an' 
de  maids  an'  de  wimmens  'bout  de  kitchen  wuz 
sayin'  how  'twuz  de  purties'  chile  dey  ever  see  ;  an* 
at  dinner-time  de  mens  (all  on  'em  hed  holiday) 
come  roun*  de  poach  an'  ax  how  de  missis  an'  de 
young  marster  wuz,  an'  ole  marster  come  out  on  de 
poach  an'  smile  wus'n  a  'possum,  an'  sez, '  Thankee! 
Bofe  doin'  fust  rate,  boys ; '  an'  den  he  stepped 
back  in  de  house,  sort  o'  laughin'  to  hisse'f,  an'  in 
a  minute  he  come  out  ag'in  wid  de  baby  in  he 
arms,  all  wrapped  up  in  flannens  an'  things,  an'  sez, 
'  Heah  he  is,  boys.'  All  de  folks  den,  dey  went  up 
on  de  poach  to  look  at  'im,  drappin'  dey  hats  on  de 
steps,  an'  scrapin'  dey  feets  ez  dey  went  up.  An* 
pres'n'y  ole  marster,  lookin'  down  at  we  all  chil'en 
all  packed  togerr  down  dyah  like  a  parecel  o'  sheep- 
burrs,  cotch  sight  o'  me  (he  knowed  my  name, 
'cause  I  use'  to  hole  he  hoss  fur  'im  sometimes  ;  but 
he  didn'  know  all  de  chil'en  by  name,  dey  wuz  so 


6  In  Ole  Virginia. 

many  on  'em),  an'  he  sez,  '  Come  up  heah.'  So  up 
I  goes  tippin',  skeered  like,  an'  old  marster  sez, 
'  Ain'  you  Mymie's  son  ?  '  '  Yass,  seh,'  sez  I.  '  Well,' 
sez  he,  '  I'm  gwine  to  give  you  to  yo'  young  Marse 
Channin'  to  be  his  body-servant/  an'  he  put  de 
baby  right  in  my  arms  (it's  de  truth  I'm  tellin' 
yo'  !),  an'  yo'  jes'  ought  to  a-heard  de  folks  sayin', 
'  Lawd  !  marster,  dat  boy'll  drap  dat  chile  ! '  '  Naw, 
he  won't,'  sez  marster;  '  I  kin  trust  'im.'  And  den 
he  sez :  *  Now,  Sam,  from  dis  time  you  belong  to 
yo'  young  Marse  Channin'  ;  I  wan'  you  to  tek  keer 
on  'im  ez  long  ez  he  lives.  You  are  to  be  his  boy 
from  dis  time.  An'  now,'  he  sez,  *  carry  'im  in  de 
house.'  An'  he  walks  arfter  me  an'  opens  de  do's 
fur  me,  an'  I  kyars  'im  in  my  arms,  an'  lays  'im 
down  on  de  bed.  An  from  dat  time  I  was  tooken 
in  de  house  to  be  Marse  Channin's  body-ser- 
vant. 

"  Well,  you  nuver  see  a  chile  grow  so.  Pres'n'y 
he  growed  up  right  big,  an'  ole  marster  sez  he  must 
have  some  edication.  So  he  sont  'im  to  school 
to  ole  Miss  Lawry  down  dyar,  dis  side  o'  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin's,  an'  I  use'  to  go  'long  wid  'im  an'  tote 
he  books  an'  we  all's  snacks  ;  an'  when  he  larnt  to 
read  an'  spell  right  good,  an'  got  'bout  so-o  big, 
ole  Miss  Lawry  she  died,  an'  ole  marster  said  he 
mus'  have  a  man  to  teach  'im  an'  trounce  'im.  So 
we  all  went  to  Mr.  Hall,  whar  kep*  de  school-house 
beyant  de  creek,  an'  dyar  we  went  ev'y  day,  'cep 


Marse  Chan.  7 

Sat'd'ys  of  co'se,  an'  sich  days  ez  Marse  Chan  din* 
warn'  go,  an'  ole  missis  begged  'im  off. 

"  Hit  wuz  down  dyar  Marse  Chan  fust  took  no- 
tice o'  Miss  Anne.  Mr.  Hall,  he  taught  gals  ez  well 
ez  boys,  an'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  sont  his  daughter 
(dat's  Miss  Anne  I'm  talkin'  about).  She  wuz  a 
leetle  bit  o'  gal  when  she  fust  come.  Yo'  see,  her 
ma  wuz  dead,  an'  ole  Miss  Lucy  Chahmb'lin,  she 
lived  wid  her  brurr  an'  kep'  house  for  'im ;  an' 
he  wuz  so  busy  wid  politics,  he  didn'  have  much 
time  to  spyar,  so  he  sont  Miss  Anne  to  Mr.  Hall's 
by  a  'ooman  wid  a  note.  When  she  come  dat  day 
in  de  school-house,  an'  all  de  chil'en  looked  at  her 
so  hard,  she  tu'n  right  red,  an'  tried  to  pull  her  long 
curls  over  her  eyes,  an'  den  put  bofe  de  backs  of 
her  little  han's  in  her  two  eyes,  an'  begin  to  cry  to 
herse'f.  Marse  Chan  he  was  settin'  on  de  een'  o' 
de  bench  nigh  de  do',  an'  he  jes'  reached  out  an* 
put  he  arm  roun'  her  an'  drawed  her  up  to  'im. 
An'  he  kep'  whisperin'  to  her,  an'  callin*  her  name, 
an'  coddlin'  her ;  an'  pres'n'y  she  took  her  han's 
down  an'  begin  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  dey  'peared  to  tek'  a  gre't  fancy  to  each 
urr  from  dat  time.  Miss  Anne  she  warn'  nuthin' 
but  a  baby  hardly,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  a  good 
big  boy  'bout  mos'  thirteen  years  ole,  I  reckon. 
Hows'ever,  dey  sut'n'y  wuz  sot  on  each  urr  an* 
(yo'  heah  me!)  ole  marster  an'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin 
dey  'peared  to  like  it  'bout  well  ez  de  chil'en.  Yo' 


8  In  Ole  Virginia. 

see,  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  place  j'ined  ourn,  an'  it 
looked  jes'  ez  natural  fur  dem  two  chil'en  to  marry 
an*  mek  it  one  plantation,  ez  it  did  fur  de  creek  to 
run  down  de  bottom  from  our  place  into  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin's.  I  don'  rightly  think  de  chil'en 
thought  'bout  gittin'  married,  not  den,  no  mo'n  I 
thought  'bout  marryin'  Judy  when  she  wuz  a  little 
gal  at  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's,  runnin'  'bout  de  house, 
huntin*  fur  Miss  Lucy's  spectacles ;  but  dey  wuz 
good  frien's  from  de  start.  Marse  Chan  he  use'  to 
kyar  Miss  Anne's  books  fur  her  ev'y  day,  an'  ef  de 
road  wuz  muddy  or  she  wuz  tired,  he  use'  to  tote 
her ;  an'  'twarn'  hardly  a  day  passed  dat  he  didn' 
kyar  her  some'n*  to  school — apples  or  hick'y  nuts, 
or  some'n'.  He  wouldn'  let  none  o'  de  chil'en 
tease  her,  nurr.  Heh  !  One  day,  one  o'  de  boys 
poked  he  finger  at  Miss  Anne,  and  arfter  school 
Marse  Chan  he  axed  'im  'roun'  hine  de  school-house 
out  o'  sight,  an'  ef  he  didn'  whop  'im  ! 

"  Marse  Chan,  he  wuz  de  peartes'  scholar  ole  Mr. 
Hall  hed,  an'  Mr.  Hall  he  wuz  mighty  proud  o'  'im. 
I  don'  think  he  use'  to  beat  'im  ez  much  ez  he  did 
de  urrs,  aldo'  he  wuz  de  head  in  all  debilment  dat 
went  on,  jes'  ez  he  wuz  in  sayin'  he  lessons. 

"Heh!  one  day  in  summer,  jes'  fo'  de  school 
broke  up,  dyah  come  up  a  storm  right  sudden,  an' 
riz  de  creek  (dat  one  yo'  cross'  back  yonder),  an' 
Marse  Chan  he  toted  Miss  Anne  home  on  he  back. 
He  ve'y  off'n  did  dat  when  de  parf  wuz  muddy. 


Marse  Chan.  9 

But  dis  day  when  dey  come  to  de  creek,  it  had 
done  washed  all  de  logs  'way.  'Twuz  still  mighty 
high,  so  Marse  Chan  he  put  Miss  Anne  down,  an* 
he  took  a  pole  an'  waded  right  in.  Hit  took  'im 
long  up  to  de  shoulders.  Den  he  waded  back,  an' 
took  Miss  Anne  up  on  his  head  an'  kyared  her 
right  over.  At  fust  she  wuz  skeered  ;  but  he  tol* 
her  he  could  swim  an'  wouldn'  let  her  git  hu't,  an* 
den  she  let  'im  kyar  her  'cross,  she  hol'in'  his  han's. 
I  warn'  'long  dat  day,  but  he  sut'n'y  did  dat  thing. 

"  Ole  marster  he  wuz  so  pleased  'bout  it,  he  giv' 
Marse  Chan  a  pony  ;  an'  Marse  Chan  rode  'im  to 
school  de  day  arfter  he  come,  so  proud,  an'  sayin' 
how  he  wuz  gwine  to  let  Anne  ride  behine  'im ;  an' 
when  he  come  home  dat  evenin'  he  wuz  walkin'. 
'  Hi !  where's  yo'  pony  ? '  said  ole  marster.  '  I  give 
'im  to  Anne,'  says  Marse  Chan.  '  She  liked  'im,  an' 
— I  kin  walk.'  *  Yes,'  sez  ole  marster,  laughin',  '  I 
s'pose  you's  already  done  giv'  her  yo'se'f,  an*  jiex' 
thing  I  know  you'll  be  givin*  her  this  plantation  and 
all  my  niggers.' 

"  Well,  about  a  fortnight  or  sich  a  matter  arfter 
dat,  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  sont  over  an'  invited  all  o'  we 
all  over  to  dinner,  an'  Marse  Chan  wuz  'spressly 
named  in  de  note  whar  Ned  brought ;  an'  arfter 
dinner  he  made  ole  Phil,  whar  wuz  his  ker'ige- 
driver,  bring  roun'  Marse  Chan's  pony  wid  a  little 
side-saddle  on  'im,  an'  a  beautiful  little  hoss  wid  a 
bran'-new  saddle  an'  bridle  on  'im  ;  an'  he  gits  up 


io  In  Ole   Virginia. 

an'  meks  Marse  Chan  a  gre't  speech,  an'  presents 
'im  de  little  hoss ;  an'  den  he  calls  Miss  Anne,  an' 
she  comes  out  on  de  poach  in  a  little  ridin'  frock, 
an'  dey  puts  her  on  her  pony,  an'  Marse  Chan 
mounts  his  hoss,  an'  dey  goes  to  ride,  while  de 
grown  folks  is  a-laughin'  an'  chattin'  an'  smokin' 
dey  cigars. 

"  Dem  wuz  good  ole  times,  marster — de  bes'  Sam 
ever  see!  Dey  wuz,  in  fac' !,  Niggers  didn'  hed 
nothin'  't  all  to  do — jes'  hed  to  'ten'  to  de  feedin' 
an'  cleanin'  de  hosses,  an'  doin'  what  de  marster  tell 
'em  to  do ;  an'  when  dey  wuz  sick,  dey  had  things 
sont  'em  out  de  house,  an'  de  same  doctor  come  to 
see  'em  whar  'ten'  to  de  white  folks  when  dey  wuz 
po'ly.  Dyar  warn'  no  trouble  nor  nothin'. 

"  Well,  things  tuk  a  change  arfter  dat.  Marse 
Chan  he  went  to  de  bo'din'  school,  whar  he  use'  to 
write  to  me  constant.  Ole  missis  use'  to  read  me 
de  Jetters,  an'  den  I'd  git  Miss  Anne  to  read  'em 
ag'in  to  me  when  I'd  see  her.  He  use'  to  write  to 
her  too,  an'  she  use'  to  write  to  him  too.  Den  Miss 
Anne  she  wuz  sont  off  to  school  too.  An'  in  de 
summer  time  dey'd  bofe  come  home,  an'  yo'  hardly 
knowed  whether  Marse  Chan  lived  at  home  or  over 
at  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  He  wuz  over  dyah  constant. 
'Twuz  always  ridin'  or  fishin'  down  dyah  in  de 
river;  or  sometimes  he'  go  over  dyah,  an'  'im  an' 
she'd  go  out  an'  set  in  de  yard  onder  de  trees ;  she 
settin'  up  mekin'  out  she  wuz  knittin'  some  sort  o' 


Marse  Chan.  II 

bright-cullored  some'n',  wid  de  grarss  growin  all  up 
'g'inst  her,  an'  her  hat  th'owed  back  on  her  neck, 
an*  he  readin'  to  her  out  books ;  an'  sometimes 
dey'd  bofe  read  out  de  same  book,  fust  one  an'  den 
todder.  I  use*  to  see  'em  !  Dat  wuz  when  dey  wuz 
growin'  up  like. 

"  Den  ole  marster  he  run  for  Congress,  an'  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  wuz  put  up  to  run  'g'inst  ole 
marster  by  de  Dimicrats ;  but  ole  marster  he  beat 
'im.  Yo'  know  he  wuz  gwine  do  dat !  Co'se  he 
wuz !  Dat  made  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  mighty 
mad,  and  dey  stopt  visitin'  each  urr  reg'lar,  like  dey 
had  been  doin'  all  'long.  Den  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he 
sort  o'  got  in  debt,  an'  sell  some  o'  he  niggers,  an' 
dat's  de  way  de  fuss  begun.  Dat's  whar  de  lawsuit 
cum  from.  Ole  marster  he  didn'  like  nobody  to  sell 
niggers,  an'  knowin'  dat  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wuz  sell- 
in'  o'  his,  he  writ  an'  offered  to  buy  his  M'ria  an'  all 
her  chil'en,  'cause  she  hed  married  our  Zeek'yel. 
An'  don*  yo'  think,  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  axed  ole  mars- 
ter mo'  'n  th'ee  niggers  wuz  wuth  fur  M'ria!  Befo' 
old  marster  bought  her,  dough,  de  sheriff  cum  an' 
levelled  on  M'ria  an'  a  whole  parecel  o'  urr  nig- 
gers. Ole  marster  he  went  to  de  sale,  an'  bid  for 
'em;  but  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  got  some  one  to  bid 
'g'inst  ole  marster.  Dey  wuz  knocked  out  to  ole 
marster  dough,  an'  den  dey  hed  a  big  lawsuit,  an' 
ole  marster  wuz  agwine  to  co't,  off  an'  on,  fur  some 
years,  till  at  lars'  de  co't  decided  dat  M'ria  belonged 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


12  In  Ole  Virginia. 

to  ole  marster.  Ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  den  vvuz  so 
mad  he  sued  ole  marster  for  a  little  strip  o'  Ian' 
down  dyah  on  de  line  fence,  whar  he  said  belonged 
to  'im.  Evy'body  knowed  hit  belonged  to  ole  mars- 
ter. Ef  yo'  go  down  dyah  now,  I  kin  show  it  to  yo', 
inside  de  line  fence,  whar  it  hed  done  bin  ever 
since  long  befo'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wuz  born.  But 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wuz  a  mons'us  perseverin'  man, 
an'  ole  marster  he  wouldn'  let  nobody  run  over  'im. 
No,  dat  he  wouldn' !  So  dey  wuz  agwine  down  to 
co't  about  dat,  fur  I  don'  know  how  long,  till  ole 
marster  beat  'im. 

"  All  dis  time,  yo'  know,  Marse  Chan  wuz  agoin' 
back'ads  an'  for'ads  to  college,  an'  wuz  growed  up  a 
ve'y  fine  young  man.  He  wuz  a  ve'y  likely  gent'- 
man !  Miss  Anne  she  hed  done  mos*  growed  up 
too — wuz  puttin'  her  hyar  up  like  ole  missis  use'  to 
put  hers  up,  an'  't  wuz  jes'  ez  bright  ez  de  sorrel's 
mane  when  de  sun  cotch  on  it,  an'  her  eyes  wuz 
gre't  big  dark  eyes,  like  her  pa's,  on'y  bigger  an'  not 
so  fierce,  an'  'twarn'  none  o'  de  young  ladies  ez 
purty  ez  she  wuz.  She  an'  Marse  Chan  still  set  a 
heap  o'  sto'  by  one  'nurr,  but  I  don'  think  dey 
wuz  easy  wid  each  urr  ez  when  he  used  to  tote 
her  home  from  school  on  his  back.  Marse  Chan  he 
use'  to  love  de  ve'y  groun'  she  walked  on,  dough, 
in  my  'pinion.  Heh !  His  face  'twould  light  up 
whenever  she  come  into  chu'ch,  or  anywhere,  jes' 
like  de  sun  hed  come  th'oo  a  chink  on  it  suddenly. 


Marse  Chan.  13 

"  Den  ole  marster  lost  he  eyes.  D'  yo'  ever  heah 
'bout  dat  ?  Heish  ! ,  Didn'  yo'  ?  Well,  one  night 
de  big  barn  cotch  fire.  De  stables,  yo'  know,  wuz 
under  de  big  barn,  an'  all  de  hosses  wuz  in  dyah. 
Hit  'peared  to  me  like  'twarn'  no  time  befo'  all  de 
folks  an'  de  neighbors  dey  come,  an'  dey  wuz  a-totin' 
water,  an'  a-tryin'  to  save  de  po'  critters,  and  dey 
got  a  heap  on  'em  out ;  but  de  ker'ige-hosses  dey 
wouldn'  come  out,  an'  dey  wuz  a-runnin'  back'ads 
an'  for'ads  inside  de  stalls,  a-nikerin'  an'  a-screamin', 
like  dey  knowed  dey  time  hed  come.  Yo'  could 
heah  'em  so  pitiful,  an'  pres'n'y  old  marster  said  to 
Ham  Fisher  (he  wuz  de  ker'ige-driver),  *  Go  in  dyah 
an'  try  to  save  'em ;  don'  let  'em  bu'n  to  death.' 
An'  Ham  he  went  right  in.  An'  jest  arfter  he  got 
in,  de  shed  whar  it  hed  fus'  cotch  fell  in,  an'  de 
sparks  shot  'way  up  in  de  air ;  an'  Ham  didn'  come 
back,  an'  de  fire  begun  to  lick  out  under  de  eaves 
over  whar  de  ker'ige  hosses'  stalls  wuz,  an'  all  of  a 
sudden  ole  marster  tu'ned  an'  kissed  ole  missis,  who 
wuz  standin'  nigh  him,  wid  her  face  jes'  ez  white  ez 
a  sperit's,  an',  befo'  anybody  knowed  what  he  wuz 
gwine  do,  jumped  right  in  de  do',  an'  de  smoke 
come  po'in'  out  behine  'im.  Well,  seh,  I  nuver 
'spects  to  heah  tell  Judgment  sich  a  soun'  ez  de 
folks  set  up  !  Ole  missis  she  jes'  drapt  down  on  her 
knees  in  de  mud  an'  prayed  out  loud.  Hit  'peared 
like  her  pra'r  wuz  heard  ;  for  in  a  minit,  right  out 
de  same  do',  kyarin'  Ham  Fisher  in  his  arms,  come 


14  In  Ole   Virginia. 

ole  marster,  wid  his  clo's  all  blazin'.  Dey  flung 
water  on  'im,  an*  put  'im  out ;  an',  ef  you  b'lieve 
me,  yo'  wouldn'  a-knowed  'twuz  ole  marster.  Yo' 
see,  he  hed  find  Ham  Fisher  done  fall  down  in  de 
smoke  right  by  the  ker'ige-hoss'  stalls,  whar  he  sont 
him,  an'  he  hed  to  tote  'im  back  in  his  arms  th'oo 
de  fire  what  hed  done  cotch  de  front  part  o*  de 
stable,  and  to  keep  de  flame  from  gittin'  down 
Ham  Fisher's  th'ote  he  hed  tuk  off  his  own  hat  and 
mashed  it  all  over  Ham  Fisher's  face,  an'  he  hed 
kep'  Ham  Fisher  from  bein'  so  much  bu'nt ;  but  he 
wuz  bu'nt  dreadful!  His  beard  an'  hyar  wuz  all 
nyawed  off,  an'  his  face  an'  han's  an'  neck  wuz  scor- 
ified terrible.  Well,  he  jes'  laid  Ham  Fisher  down, 
an'  then  he  kind  o'  staggered  for'ad,  an'  ole  missis 
ketch'  'im  in  her  arms.  Ham  Fisher,  he  warn' 
bu'nt  so  bad,  an'  he  got  out  in  a  month  or  two ;  an' 
arfter  a  long  time,  ole  marster  he  got  well,  too  ;  but 
he  wuz  always  stone  blind  arfter  that.  He  nuver 
could  see  none  from  dat  night. 

"  Marse  Chan  he  corned  home  from  college  to- 
reckly,  an'  he  sut'n'y  did  nuss  ole  marster  faithful — 
jes'  like  a  'ooman.  Den  he  took  charge  of  de  plan- 
tation arfter  dat ;  an'  I  use'  to  wait  on  'im  jes'  like 
when  we  wuz  boys  togedder  ;  an*  sometimes  we'd  slip 
off  an'  have  a  fox-hunt,  an'  he'd  be  jes'  like  he  wuz 
in  ole  times,  befo'  ole  marster  got  bline,  an'  Miss 
Anne  Chahmb'lin  stopt  comin'  over  to  our  house, 
an'  settin'  onder  de  trees,  readin'  out  de  same  book. 


Marse  Chan.  15 

"  He  sut'n'y  wuz  good  to  me.  Nothin'  nuver 
made  no  diffunce  'bout  dat.  He  nuver  hit  me  a 
lick  in  his  life — an'  nuver  let  nobody  else  do  it, 
nurr. 

"  I  'members  one  day,  when  he  wuz  a  leetle  bit 
o'  boy,  ole  marster  hed  done  tole  we  all  chil'en  not 
to  slide  on  de  straw-stacks ;  an'  one  day  me  an' 
Marse  Chan  thought  ole  marster  hed  done  gone 
'way  from  home.  We  watched  him  git  on  he  hoss 
an'  ride  up  de  road  out  o'  sight,  an'  we  wuz  out  in 
de  field  a-slidin'  an  a-slidin',  when  up  comes  ole 
marster.  We  started  to  run  ;  but  he  hed  done  see 
us,  an'  he  called  us  to  come  back  ;  an'  sich  a  whup- 
pin'  ez  he  did  gi'  us ! 

"  Fust  he  took  Marse  Chan,  an'  den  he  teched 
me  up.  He  nuver  hu't  me,  but  in  co'se  I  wuz  a- 
hollerin'  ez  hard  ez  I  could  stave  it,  'cause  I  knowed 
dat  wuz  gwine  mek  him  stop.  Marse  Chan  he 
hed'n  open  he  mouf  long  ez  ole  marster  wuz  tunin' 
'im  ;  but  soon  ez  he  commence  warmin'  me  an'  I 
begin  to  holler,  Marse  Chan  he  bu'st  out  cryin',  an' 
stept  right  in  befo'  ole  marster,  an'  ketchin'  dewhup, 
sed: 

"  '  Stop,  seh  !  Yo'  sha'n't  whup  'im  ;  he  b'longs 
to  me,  an'  ef  you  hit  'im  another  lick  I'll  set  'im 
free !  ' 

"  I  wish  yo'  hed  see  ole  marster.  Marse  Chan  he 
warn'  mo'n  eight  years  ole,  an'  dyah  dey  wuz — old 
marster  stan'in'  wid  he  whup  raised  up,  an'  Marse 


1 6  In  Ole   Virginia. 

Chan  red  an*  cryin',  hol'in'  on  to  it,  an'  sayin*  I 
b'longst  to  'im. 

"  Ole  marster,  he  raise'  de  whup,  an'  den  he  drapt 
it,  an'  broke  out  in  a  smile  over  he  face,  an'  he 
chuck*  Marse  Chan  onder  de  chin,  an'  tu'n  right 
roun'  an'  went  away,  laughin'  to  hisse'f,  an'  I  heah* 
'im  tellin*  ole  missis  dat  evenin',  an'  laughin'  'bout  it. 

"  'Twan'  so  mighty  long  arfter  dat  when  dey  fust 
got  to  talkin'  'bout  de  war.  Dey  wuz  a-dictatin' 
back'ads  an'  for'ds  'bout  it  fur  two  or  th'ee  years  'fo' 
it  come  sho'  nuff,  you  know.  Ole  marster,  he  was  a 
Whig,  an'  of  co'se  Marse  Chan  he  tuk  after  he  pa. 
*Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  he  wuz  a  Dimicrat.  He  wuz  in 
favor  of  de  war,  an'  ole  marster  and  Marse  Chan  dey 
wuz  agin'  it.  Dey  wuz  a-talkin'  'bout  it  all  de  time, 
an'  purty  soon  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  went  about 
ev'vywhar  speakin'  an'  noratin'  'bout  Ferginia  ought 
to  secede ;  an'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  picked  up  to  talk 
agin'  'im.  Dat  wuz  de  way  dey  come  to  fight  de 
duil.  I  sut'n'y  wuz  skeered  fur  Marse  Chan  dat 
mawnin',  an'  he  was  jes*  ez  cool !  Yo'  see,  it  hap- 
pen so  :  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  a-speakin'  down  at  de 
Deep  Creek  Tavern,  an'  he  kind  o'  got  de  bes'  of  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin.  All  de  white  folks  laughed  an* 
hoorawed,  an'  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin — my  Lawd  !  I 
t'ought  he'd  'a'  bu'st,  he  was  so  mad.  Well,  when  it 
come  to  his  time  to  speak,  he  jes'  light  into  Marse 
Chan.  He  call  'im  a  traitor,  an'  a  ab'litionis',  an*  I 
don'  know  what  all.  Marse  Chan,  he  jes'  kep'  cool 


Marse  Chan.  if 

till  de  ole  Cun'l  light  into  he  pa.  Ez  soon  ez  he 
name  ole  marster,  I  seen  Marse  Chan  sort  o'  lif  up 
he  head.  D'  yo'  ever  see  a  hoss  rar  he  head  up  right 
sudden  at  night  when  he  see  somethin'  comin'  to'ds 
'im  from  de  side  an'  he  don'  know  what  'tis  ?  Ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  went  right  on.  He  said  ole 
marster  hed  taught  Marse  Chan  ;  dat  ole  marster 
wuz  a  wuss  ab'litionis'  dan  he  son.  I  looked  at 
Marse  Chan,  an'  sez  to  myse'f :  *  Fo'  Gord !  old 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  better  min',  an'  I  hedn'  got  de 
wuds  out,  when  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  'cuse'  old  mars- 
ter o'  cheatin'  'im  out  o'  he  niggers,  an'  stealin'  piece 
o'  he  Ian'— dat's  de  Ian'  I  tole  you  'bout.  Well,  seh, 
nex'  thing  I  knowed,  I  heahed  Marse  Chan — hit  all 
happen  right  'long  togerr,  like  tightnin'  and  thunder 
when  they  hit  right  at  you — I  heah  'im  say  : 

" '  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  what  you  say  is  false,  an'  yo' 
know  it  to  be  so.  You  have  wilfully  slandered  one 
of  de  pures'  an'  nobles'  men  Gcrd  ever  made,  an' 
nothin'  but  yo'  gray  hyars  protects  you.' 

"  Well,  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  he  ra'ed  an'  he 
pitch'd.  He  said  he  wan'  too  ole,  an'  he'd  show 
'im  so. 

"  *  Ve'y  well,'  says  Marse  Chan. 

"  De  meetin  broke  up  den.  I  wuz  hol'in*  de 
hosses  out  dyar  in  de  road  by  de  een*  o'  de  poach, 
an'  I  see  Marse  Chan  talkin'  an'  talkin'  to  Mr.  Gor- 
don an'  anudder  gent'man,  and  den  he  come  out  an* 
got  on  de  sorrel  an'  galloped  off.  Soon  ez  he  got 


1 8  In  Ole  Virginia. 

out  o'  sight  he  pulled  up,  an'  we  walked  along  tell 
we  come  to  de  road  whar  leads  off  to'ds  Mr.  Bar- 
hour's.  He  wuz  de  big  lawyer  o'  de  country.  Dar 
he  tu'ned  off.  All  dis  time  he  hedn'  sed  a  wud,  'cep' 
to  kind  o'  mumble  to  hisse'f  now  and  den.  When 
we  got  to  Mr.  Barbour's,  he  got  down  an'  went  in. 
Dat  wuz  in  de  late  winter;  de  folks  wuz  jes*  be- 
ginnin'  to  plough  fur  corn.  He  stayed  dyar  'bout 
two  hours,  an'  when  he  come  out  Mr.  Barbour  come 
out  to  de  gate  wid  'im  an'  shake  han's  arfter  he  got 
up  in  de  saddle.  Den  we  all  rode  off.  'Twuz  late 
den — good  dark;  an' we  rid  ez  hard  ez  we  could, 
tell  we  come  to  de  ole  school-house  at  ole  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin's  gate.  When  we  got  dar,  Marse  Chan 
got  down  an'  walked  right  slow  'roun'  de  house. 
Arfter  lookin'  roun'  a  little  while  an'  tryin'de  do' to 
see  ef  it  wuz  shet,  he  walked  down  de  road  tell  he 
got  to  de  creek.  He  stop'  dyar  a  little  while  an' 
picked  up  two  or  three  little  rocks  an'  frowed  'em 
in,  an'  pres'n'y  he  got  up  an'  we  come  on  home.  Ez 
he  got  down,  he  tu'ned  to  me  an',  rubbin'  de  sorrel's 
nose,  said :  '  Have  'em  well  fed,  Sam  ;  I'll  want  'em 
early  in  de  mawninV 

"  Dat  night  at  supper  he  laugh  an'  talk,  an'  he  set 
at  de  table  a  long  time.  Arfter  ole  marster  went  to 
bed,  he  went  in  de  charmber  an'  set  on  de  bed  by  'im 
talkin'  to  'im  an'  tellin'  'im  'bout  de  meetin'  an'  e'vy- 
thing  ;  but  he  nuver  mention  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's 
name.  When  he  got  up  to  come  out  to  de  office  in 


Marse  Chan.  ig 

de  yard,  whar  he  slept,  he  stooped  down  an'  kissed 
'im  jes'  like  he  wuz  a  baby  layin'  dyar  in  de  bed,  an' 
he'd  hardly  let  ole  missis  go  at  all.  I  knowed  some'n 
wuz  up,  an'  nexmawnin'  I  called  'im  early  befo'  light, 
like  he  tole  me,  an'  he  dressed  an'  come  out  pres'n'y 
jes'  like  he  wuz  goin'  to  church.  I  had  de  hosses  ready, 
an*  we  went  out  de  back  way  to'ds  de  river.  Ez  we 
rode  along,  he  said  : 

"  '  Sam,  you  an'  I  wuz  boys  togedder,  wa'n't  we  ? ' 
"  '  Yes/  sez  I,  '  Marse  Chan,  dat  we  wuz.' 
"  'You  have  been  ve'y  faithful  to  me,'  sez  he,  '  an' 
I  have  seen  to  it  that  you  are  well  provided  fur. 
You  want  to  marry  Judy,  I  know,  an'  you'll  be  able 
to  buy  her  ef  you  want  to.' 

"  Den  he  tole  me  he  wuz  goin'  to  fight  a  duil,  an' 
in  case  he  should  git  shot,  he  had  set  me  free  an' 
giv'  me  nuff  to  tek  keer  o'  me  an'  my  wife  ez  longez 
we  lived.  He  said  he'd  like  me  to  stay  an'  tek  keer 
o'  ole  marster  an'  ole  missis  ez  long  ez  dey  lived,  an' 
he  said  it  wouldn'  be  very  long,  he  reckoned.  Dat 
wuz  de  on'y  time  he  voice  broke — when  he  said 
dat;  an'  I  couldn'  speak  a  wud,  my  th'oat  choked 
me  so. 

"  When  we  come  to  de  river,  we  tu'ned  right  up 
de  bank,  an'  arfter  ridin'  'bout  a  mile  or  sich  a  mat- 
ter, we  stopped  whar  dey  wuz  a  little  clearin'  wid 
elder  bushes  on  one  side  an'  two  big  gum-trees  on 
de  urr,  an'  de  sky  wuz  all  red,  an'  de  water  down 
to'ds  whar  the  sun  wuz  comin'  wuz  jes'  like  de  sky. 


2O  In  Ole  Virginia. 

"  Pres'n'y  Mr.  Gordon  he  come,  wid  a  'hogany 
box  'bout  so  big  'fore  'im,  an'  he  got  down,  an* 
Marse  Chan  tole  me  to  tek  all  de  hosses  an*  go 
'roun'  behine  de  bushes  whar  I  tell  you  'bout — off 
to  one  side  ;  an'  'fore  I  got  'roun'  dar,  ole  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  an'  Mr.  Hennin  an'  Dr.  Call  come 
ridin'  from  t'urr  way,  to'ds  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's. 
When  dey  hed  tied  dey  hosses,  de  urr  gent'mens 
went  up  to  whar  Mr.  Gordon  wuz,  an'  arfter  some 
chattin'  Mr.  Hennin  step'  off  'bout  fur  ez  'cross  dis 
road,  or  mebbe  it  mout  be  a  little  furder ;  an'  den  I 
seed  'em  th'oo  de  bushes  loadin'  de  pistils,  an* 
talk  a  little  while ;  an'  den  Marse  Chan  an'  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  walked  up  wid  de  pistils  in  dey 
han's,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  stood  wid  his  face  right 
to'ds  de  sun.  I  seen  it  shine  on  him  jes*  ez  it  come 
up  over  de  low  groun's,  an'  he  look  like  he  did 
sometimes  when  he  come  out  of  church.  I  wuz  so 
skeered  I  couldn'  say  nothin'.  Ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin 
could  shoot  fust  rate,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  never 
missed. 

"Den  I  heared  Mr.  Gordon  say,  *  Gent'mens,  is 
yo*  ready  ? '  and  bofe  of  'em  sez,  '  Ready,'  jes' 
so. 

"An'  he  sez,  *  Fire,  one,  two'  —  an' ez  he  said 
'  one,'  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  raised  he  pistil  an'  shot 
right  at  Marse  Chan.  De  ball  went  th'oo  his  hat. 
I  seen  he  hat  sort  o*  settle  on  he  head  ez  de  bullit 
hit  it,  an'  he  jes'  tilted  his  pistil  up  in  de  a'r  an* 


Mqrse  Chan.  21 

shot — bang ;  an*  ez  de  pistil  went  bang,  he  sez  to 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  '  I  mek  you  a  present  to  yo' 
fam'ly,  seh ! ' 

"  Well,  dey  had  some  talkin'  arfter  dat.  I  didn't 
git  rightly  what  it  wuz ;  but  it  'peared  like  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  he  warn't  satisfied,  an'  wanted  to  have 
anurr  shot.  De  seconds  dey  wuz  talkin',  an' 
pres'n'y  dey  put  de  pistils  up,  an'  Marse  Chan  an' 
Mr.  Gordon  shook  han's  wid  Mr.  Hennin  an'  Dr. 
Call,  an'  come  an'  got  on  dey  hosses.  An'  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  he  got  on  his  horse  an'  rode  away  wid 
de  urr  gent'mens,  lookin'  like  he  did  de  day  befo' 
when  all  de  people  laughed  at  'im. 

"  I  b'lieve  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  Wan'  to  shoot 
Marse  Chan,  anyway! 

"  We  come  on  home  to  breakfast,  I  totin*  de  box 
wid  de  pistils  befo'  me  on  de  roan.  Would  you 
b'lieve  me,  seh,  Marse  Chan  he  nuver  said  a  wud 
'bout  it  to  ole  marster  or  nobody.  Ole  missis  didn' 
fin'  out  'bout  it  for  mo'n  a  month,  an'  den,  Lawd ! 
how  she  did  cry  and  kiss  Marse  Chan  ;  an' ole  mars- 
ter, aldo*  he  never  say  much,  he  wuz  jes'  ez  please' 
ez  ole  missis.  He  call'  me  in  de  room  an'  made  me 
tole  'im  all  'bout  it,  an'  when  I  got  th'oo  he  gi'  me 
five  dollars  an'  a  pyar  of  breeches. 

"  But  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  nuver  did  furgive 
Marse  Chan,  an'  Miss  Anne  she  got  mad  too.  Wim- 
mens  is  mons'us  onreasonable  nohow.  Dey's  jes' 
like  a  catfish  :  you  can  n'  tek  hole  on  'em  like 


22  In  Ole   Virginia. 

udder  folks,  an'  when  you  gits  'm  yo'  can  n'  always 
hole  'em. 

"What  meks  me  think  so?  Heaps  o'  things — 
dis :  Marse  Chan  he  done  gi'  Miss  Anne  her  pa  jes' 
ez  good  ez  I  gi'  Marse  Chan's  dawg  sweet  'taters, 
an'  she  git  mad  wid  'im  ez  if  he  hed  kill  'im  'stid  o' 
sen'in'  'im  back  to  her  dat  mawnin'  whole  an'  soun*. 
B'lieve  me  !  she  wouldn'  even  speak  to  him  arfter 
dat! 

"  Don'  I  'member  dat  mawnin'  ! 

"  We  wuz  gwine  fox-huntin',  'bout  six  weeks  or 
sich  a  matter  arfter  de  duil,  an'  we  met  Miss  Anne 
ridin'  'long  wid  anurr  lady  an'  two  gent'mens 
whar  wuz  stayin'  at  her  house.  Dyar  wuz  always 
some  one  or  nurr  dyar  co'ting  her.  Well,  dat 
mawnin'  we  meet  'em  right  in  de  road.  'Twuz  de 
fust  time  Marse  Chan  had  see  her  sence  de  duil,  an' 
he  raises  he  hat  ez  he  pahss,  an'  she  looks  right  at 
'im  wid  her  head  up  in  de  yair  like  she  nuver  see 
'im  befo'  in  her  born  days  ;  an'  when  she  comes  by 
me,  she  sez,  '  Good-mawnin',  Sam  !  '  Gord  !  I  nuv- 
er see  nuthin'  like  de  look  dat  come  on  Marse 
Chan's  face  when  she  pahss  'im  like  dat.  He  gi'  de 
sorrel  a  pull  dat  fotch  'im  back  settin*  down  in  de 
san'  on  he  handles.  He  ve'y  lips  wuz  white.  I 
tried  to  keep  up  wid  'im,  but  'twarn'  no  use.  He 
sont  me  back  home  pres'n'y,  an'  he  rid  on.  I  sez  to 
myself,  '  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  don'  yo'  meet  Marse 
Chan  dis  mawnin'.  He  ain'  bin  lookin'  'roun'  de  ole 


Marse  Chan.  23 

school-house,  whar  he  an'  Miss  Anne  use'  to  go  to 
school  to  ole  Mr.  Hall  together,  fur  nuffin'.  He 
won'  stan'  no  prodjickin'  to-day/ 

"  He  nuver  come  home  dat  night  tell  'way  late, 
an'  ef  he'd  been  fox-huntin'  it  mus'  ha'  been  de  ole 
red  whar  lives  down  in  de  greenscum  mashes  he'd 
been  chasin'.  De  way  de  sorrel  wuz  gormed  up  wid 
sweat  an'  mire  sut'n'y  did  hu't  me.  He  walked  up 
to  de  stable  wid  he  head  down  all  de  way,  an'  I'se 
seen  'im  go  eighty  miles  of  a  winter  day,  an'  prance 
into  de  stable  at  night  ez  fresh  ez  ef  he  hed  jes'  can- 
tered over  to  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  to  supper.  I 
nuver  seen  a  hoss  beat  so  sence  I  knowed  de  fet- 
lock from  de  fo'lock,  an'  bad  ez  he  wuz  he  wan'  ez 
bad  ez  Marse  Chan. 

"  Whew  !  he  didn'  git  over  dat  thing,  seh — he 
nuver  did  git  over  it. 

"  De  war  come  on  jes'  den,  an  Marse  Chan  wuz 
elected  cap'n  ;  but  he  wouldn'  tek  it.  He  said  Fir- 
ginia  hadn'  seceded,  an'  he  wuz  gwine  stan'  by  her. 
Den  dey  'lected  Mr.  Gordon  cap'n. 

"  I  sut'n'y  did  wan'  Marse  Chan  to  tek  de  place, 
cuz  I  knowed  he  wuz  gwine  tek  me  wid  'im.  He 
wan'  gwine  widout  Sam.  An'  beside,  he  look  so  po' 
an'  thin,  I  thought  he  wuz  gwine  die. 

"  Of  co'se,  ole  missis  she  heared  'bout  it,  an'  she 
met  Miss  Anne  in  de  road,  an'  cut  her  jes'  like  Miss 
Anne  cut  Marse  Chan. 

"  Ole  missis,  she  wuz  proud  ez  anybody  !     So  we 


24  In  Ole  Virginia. 

wuz  mo*  strangers  dan  ef  we  hadn'  live'  in  a  hun- 
derd  miles  of  each  urr.  An'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz 
gittin'  thinner  an*  thinner,  an'  Firginia  she  come  out, 
an'  den  Marse  Chan  he  went  to  Richmond  an'  listed, 
an'  come  back  an'  sey  he  wuz  a  private,  an' he  didn' 
know  whe'r  he  could  tek  me  or  not.  He  writ  to 
Mr.  Gordon,  hows'ever,  an'  'twuz  'cided  dat  when  he 
went  I  wuz  to  go  'long  an'  wait  on  him  an*  de  cap'n 
too.  I  didn'  min'  dat,  yo'  know,  long  ez  I  could  go 
wid  Marse  Chan,  an'  I  like'  Mr.  Gordon,  any- 
ways. 

"  Well,  one  night  Marse  Chan  come  back  from 
de  offis  wid  a  telegram  dat  say,  *  Come  at  once,'  so 
he  wuz  to  start  nex'  mawnin'.  He  uniform  wuz  all 
ready,  gray  wid  yaller  trimmin's,  an'  mine  wuz 
ready  too,  an'  he  had  ole  marster's  sword,  whar  de 
State  gi'  'im  in  de  Mexikin  war  ;  an'  he  trunks  wuz 
all  packed  wid  ev'rything  in  'em,  an'  my  chist  was 
packed  too,  an'  Jim  Rasher  he  druv  'em  over  to  de 
depo'  in  de  waggin,  an'  we  wuz  to  start  nex'  mawnin' 
'bout  light.  Dis  wuz  'bout  de  las'  o'  spring,  you 
know.  Dat  night  ole  missis  made  Marse  Chan 
dress  up  in  he  uniform,  an'  he  sut'n'y  did  look 
splendid,  wid  he  long  mustache  an'  he  wavin'  hyar 
an'  he  tall  figger. 

"Arfter  supper  he  come  down  an'  sez :  'Sam,  I 
wan'  you  to  tek  dis  note  an'  kyar  it  over  to  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin's,  an'  gi'  it  to  Miss  Anne  wid  yo'  own 
han's,  an'  bring  me  wud  what  she  sez.  Don'  let 


Marse  Chan.  25 

any  one  know  'bout  it,  or  know  why  you've  gone.' 
<Yes,  seh,'  sez  I. 

"  Yo'  see,  I  knowed  Miss  Anne's  maid  over  at  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's — dat  wuz  Judy  whar  is  my  wife 
now — an'  I  knowed  I  could  wuk  it.  So  I  tuk  de 
roan  an'  rid  over,  an'  tied  'im  down  de  hill  in  de 
cedars,  an'  I  wen'  'roun'  to  de  back  yard.  'Twuz  a 
right  blowy  sort  o'  night  ;  de  moon  wuz  jes'  risin', 
but  de  clouds  wuz  so  big  it  didn'  shine  'cep'  th'oo  a 
crack  now  an'  den.  I  soon  foun'  my  gal,  an'  arfter 
tellin'  her  two  or  three  lies  'bout  herse'f,  I  got  her 
to  go  in  an*  ax  Miss  Anne  to  come  to  de  do'.  When 
she  come,  I  gi'  her  de  note,  an'  arfter  a  little  while 
she  bro't  me  anurr,  an'  I  tole  her  good-by,  an' 
she  gi'  me  a  dollar,  an'  I  come  home  an'  gi'  de  letter 
to  Marse  Chan.  He  read  it,  an'  tole  me  to  have  de 
hosses  ready  at  twenty  minits  to  twelve  at  de  corner 
of  de  garden.  An*  jes'  befo*  dat  he  come  out  ez  ef 
he  wuz  gwine  to  bed,  but  instid  he  come,  an'  we  all 
struck  out  to'ds  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  When  we  got 
mos'  to  de  gate,  de  hosses  got  sort  o'  skeered,  an'  I 
see  dey  wuz  some'n  or  somebody  standin'  jes'  in- 
side ;  an'  Marse  Chan  he  jumpt  off  de  sorrel  an' 
flung  me  de  bridle  and  he  walked  up. 

"  She  spoke  fust  ('twuz  Miss  Anne  had  done  come 
out  dyar  to  meet  Marse  Chan),  an'  she  sez,  jes'  ez 
cold  ez  a  chill,  '  Well,  seh,  I  granted  your  favor.  I 
wished  to  relieve  myse'f  of  de  obligations  you  placed 
me  under  a  few  months  ago,  when  you  made  me  a 


26  In  Ole   Virginia. 

present  of  my  father,  whom  you  fust  insulted  an' 
then  prevented  from  gittin'  satisfaction.' 

"  Marse  Chan  he  didn'  speak  fur  a  minit,  an'  den 
he  said  :  '  Who  is  with  you  ?  '  (Dat  wuz  ev'y  wud.) 

" '  No  one,'  sez  she  ;  '  I  came  alone.' 

"  '  My  God  ! '  sez  he,  'you  didn'  come  all  through 
those  woods  by  yourse'f  at  this  time  o'  night  ? ' 

"'Yes,  I'm  not  afraid,'  sez  she.  (An'  heah  dis 
nigger  !  I  don'  b'lieve  she  wuz.) 

"  De  moon  come  out,  an'  I  cotch  sight  o'  her 
stan 'in'  clyar  in  her  white  dress,  wid  de  cloak  she 
had  wrapped  herse'f  up  in  drapped  off  on  de  groun', 
an'  she  didn'  look  like  she  wuz  'feared  o'  nuthin*. 
She  wuz  mons'us  purty  ez  she  stood  dyar  wid  de 
green  bushes  behine  her,  an'  she  hed  jes'  a  few 
flowers  in  her  breas' — right  hyah — and  some  leaves 
in  her  sorrel  hyar  ;  an'  de  moon  come  out  an'  shined 
down  on  her  hyar  an'  her  frock,  an'  'peared  like  de 
light  wuz  jes'  stan'in'  off  it  ez  she  stood  dyar  lookin' 
at  Marse  Chan  wid  her  head  tho'd  back,  jes'  like  dat 
mawnin'  when  she  pahss  Marse  Chan  in  de  road 
widout  speakin'  to  'im,  an'  sez  to  me,  '  Good  maw- 
nin', Sam.' 

"  Marse  Chan,  he  den  tole  her  he  hed  come  to 
say  good-by  to  her,  ez  he  wuz  gwine  'way  to  de  war 
nex'  mawnin'.  I  wuz  watchin'  on  her,  an'  I  tho't, 
when  Marse  Chan  tole  her  dat,  she  sort  o'  started 
an'  looked  up  at  'im  like  she  wuz  mighty  sorry,  an* 
'peared  like  she  didn'  stan'  quite  so  straight  arfter 


Marse  Chan.  27 

dat.  Den  Marse  Chan  he  went  on  talkin'  right  fars' 
to  her;  an'  he  tole  her  how  he  had  loved  her  ever 
sence  she  wuz  a  little  bit  o'  baby  mos',  an'  how  he 
nuver  'membered  de  time  when  he  hedn'  'spected 
to  marry  her.  He  tole  her  it  wuz  his  love  for  her 
dat  hed  made  'im  stan'  fust  at  school  an'  collige, 
an'  hed  kep'  'im  good  an'  pure ;  an'  now  he  wuz 
gwine  'way,  wouldn'  she  let  it  be  like  'twuz  in  ole 
times,  an'  ef  he  come  back  from  de  war  wouldn'  she 
try  to  think  on  him  ez  she  use'  to  do  when  she  wuz 
a  little  guirl? 

"  Marse  Chan  he  had  done  been  talkin'  so  serious, 
he  hed  done  tuk  Miss  Anne's  han',  an'  wuz  lookin' 
down  in  her  face  like  he  wuz  list'nin'  wid  his  eyes. 

"  Arfter  a  minit  Miss  Anne  she  said  something 
an'  Marse  Chan  he  cotch  her  urr  han'  an'  sez : 

"  '  But  if  you  love  me,  Anne  ?  ' 

"  When  he  said  dat,  she  tu'ned  her  head  'way 
from  'im,  an'  wait'  a  minit,  an'  den  she  said — right 
clear : 

"'But  I  don' love  yoV  (Jes' dem  th'ee  wuds !) 
De  wuds  fall  right  slow — like  dirt  falls  out  a  spade 
on  a  coffin  when  yo's  buryin'  anybody,  an'  seys, 
4  Uth  to  uth.'  Marse  Chan  he  jes'  let  her  hand 
drap,  an'  he  stiddy  hisse'f  'g'inst  de  gate-pos',  an'  he 
didn'  speak  torekly.  When  he  did  speak,  all  he  sez 
wuz : 

"  *  I  mus'  see  you  home  safe.' 

"  I    'clar,    marster,    I     didn'    know    'twuz     Marse 


28  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Chan's  voice  tell  I  look  at  'im  right  good.  Well, 
she  wouldn'  let  'im  go  wid  her.  She  jes'  wrap*  her 
cloak  'roun'  her  shoulders,  an'  wen'  'long  back  by 
herse'f,  widout  doin'  more'n  jes'  look  up  once  at 
Marse  Chan  leanin'  dyah  'g'inst  de  gate-pos*  in  he 
sodger  clo's,  wid  he  eyes  on  de  groun'.  She  said 
'Good-by'  sort  o'  sorf,  an'  Marse  Chan,  widout 
lookin'  up,  shake  han's  wid  her,  an'  she  wuz  done 
gone  down  de  road.  Soon  ez  she  got  'mos'  'roun 
de  curve,  Marse  Chan  he  followed  her,  keepin'  under 
de  trees  so  ez  not  to  be  seen,  an'  I  led  de  hosses  on 
down  de  road  behine  'im.  He  kep'  'long  behine  her 
tell  she  wuz  safe  in  de  house,  an'  den  he  come  an* 
got  on  he  hoss,  an'  we  all  come  home. 

"  Nex'  mawnin'  we  all  come  off  to  j'ine  de  army. 
An'  dey  wuz  a-drillin'  an'  a-drillin'  all  'bout  for  a 
while  an'  dey  went  'long  wid  all  de  res'  o'  de  army, 
an'  I  went  wid  Marse  Chan  an'  clean  he  boots,  an' 
look  arfter  de  tent,  an'  tek  keer  o'  him  an'  de  hosses. 
An'  Marse  Chan,  he  wan'  a  bit  like  he  use'  to  be. 
He  wuz  so  solum  an'  moanful  all  de  time,  at  leas' 
'cep'  when  dyah  wuz  gwine  to  be  a  fight.  Den  he'd 
peartin*  up,  an'  he  alwuz  rode  at  de  head  o'  de  corn^- 
pany,  'cause  he  wuz  tall ;  an'  hit  wan'  on'y  in  battles 
whar  all  his  company  wuz  dat  he  went,  but  he  use* 
to  volunteer  whenever  de  cun'l  wanted  anybody  to 
fine  out  anythin',  an*  'twuz  so  dangersome  he  didn* 
like  to  mek  one  man  go  no  sooner'n  anurr,  yo' 
know,  an'  ax'd  who'd  volunteer.  He  'peared  to  like 


Marse  Chan.  29 

to  go  prowlin'  aroun'  'mong  dem  Yankees,  an'  he 
use*  to  tek  me  wid  'im  whenever  he  could.  Yes, 
seh,  he  sut'n'y  wuz  a  good  sodger!  He  didn'  mine 
bullets  no  more'n  he  did  so  many  draps  o'  rain. 
But  I  use'  to  be  povv'ful  skeered  sometimes.  It  jes' 
use'  to  'pear  like  fun  to  'im.  In  camp  he  use'  to  be 
so  sorrerful  he'd  hardly  open  he  mouf.  You'd  'a' 
tho't  he  wuz  seekin',  he  used  to  look  so  moanful ; 
but  jes'  le'  'im  git  into  danger,  an'  he  use'  to  be 
like  ole  times — jolly  an'  laughin'  like  when  he  wuz  a 
boy. 

"  When  Cap'n  Gordon  got  he  leg  shot  off,  dey 
mek  Marse  Chan  cap'n  on  de  spot,  'cause  one  o'  de 
lieutenants  got  kilt  de  same  day,  an'  turr  one 
(named  Mr.  Ronny)  wan'  no  'count,  an'  all  de  com- 
pany said  Marse  Chan  wuz  de  man. 

"An'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  jes'  de  same.  He  didn' 
never  mention  Miss  Anne's  name,  but  I  knowed  he 
wuz  thinkin'  on  her  constant.  One  night  he  wuz 
settin'  by  de  fire  in  camp,  an'  Mr.  Ronny — he  wuz 
de  secon'  lieutenant — got  to  talkin'  'bout  ladies,  an' 
he  say  all  sorts  o'  things  'bout  'em,  an'  I  see  Marse 
Chan  kinder  lookin'  mad;  an'  de- lieutenant  men- 
tion Miss  Anne's  name.  He  hed  been  courtin'  Miss 
Anne  'bout  de  time  Marse  Chan  fit  de  duil  wid  her 
pa,  an'  Miss  Anne  hed  kicked  'im,  dough  he  wuz 
mighty  rich,  'cause  he  warn'  nuthin*  but  a  half- 
strainer,  an'  'cause  she  like  Marse  Chan,  I  believe, 
dough  she  didn'  speak  to  'im  ;  an'  Mr.  Ronny  he  got 


3O  In  Ole  Virginia. 

drunk,  an*  'cause  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  tole  'im  not  to 
come  dyah  no  more,  he  got  mighty  mad.  An'  dat 
evenin'  I'se  tellin'  yo'  'bout,  he  wuz  talkin',  an'  he 
mention'  Miss  Anne's  name.  I  see  Marse  Chan  tu'n 
he  eye  'roun'  on  'im  an'  keep  it  on  he  face,  and 
pres'n'y  Mr.  Ronny  said  he  wuz  gwine  hev  some  fun 
dyah  yit.  He  didn'  mention  her  name  dat  time; 
but  he  said  dey  wuz  all  on  'em  a  parecel  of  stuck- 
up  'risticrats,  an'  her  pa  wan'  no  gent'man  anyway, 

an' I   don'   know  what  he   wuz  gwine  say  (he 

nuver  said  it),  fur  ez  he  got  dat  far  Marse  Chan  riz 
up  an'  hit  'im  a  crack,  an'  he  fall  like  he  hed  been 
hit  wid  a  fence-rail.  He  challenged  Marse  Chan  to 
fight  a  duil,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  excepted  de  chal- 
lenge, an'  dey  wuz  gwine  fight ;  but  some  on  'em 
tole  'im  Marse  Chan  wan'  gwine  mek  a  present  o' 
him  to  his  fam'ly,  an'  he  got  somebody  to  bre'k  up 
de  duil ;  twan'  nuthin'  dough,  but  he  wuz  'fred  to 
fight  Marse  Chan.  An'  purty  soon  he  lef  de  com- 
p'ny. 

"Well,  I  got  one  o'  de  gent'mens  to  write  Judy  a 
letter  for  me,  an'  I  tole  her  all  'bout  de  fight,  an' 
how  Marse  Chan  knock  Mr.  Ronny  over  fur  speakin' 
discontemptuous  o'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  an'  I  tole  her 
how  Marse  Chan  wuz  a-dyin'  fur  love  o'  Miss  Anne. 
An'  Judy  she  gits  Miss  Anne  to  read  de  letter  fur 
her.  Den  Miss  Anne  she  tells  her  pa,  an' — you 
mind,  Judy  tells  me  all  dis  arfterwards,  an'  she  say 
when  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  hear  'bout  it,  he  wuz  set- 


Marse  Chan.  31 

tin'  on  de  poach,  an'  he  set  still  a  good  while,  an' 
den  he  sey  to  hisse'f : 

"  '  Well,  he  earn'  he'p  bein'  a  Whig.' 

"  An'  den  he  gits  up  an'  walks  up  to  Miss  Anne 
an'  looks  at  her  right  hard;  an'  Miss  Anne  she  hed 
done  tu'n  away  her  haid  an'  wuz  makin'  out  she  wuz 
fixin'  a  rose-bush  'g'inst  de  poach  ;  an'  when  her  pa 
kep'  lookin'  at  her,  her  face  got  jes'  de  color  o'  de 
roses  on  de  bush,  and  pres'n'y  her  pa  sez : 

"'Anne!' 

"  An'  she  tu'ned  roun',  an'  he  sez : 

"  '  Do  yo'  want  'im  ?' 

"  An'  she  sez,  '  Yes,'  an'  put  her  head  on  he  shoul- 
der an'  begin  to  cry ;  an'  he  sez : 

"'Well,  I  *von'  stan'  between  yo'  no  longer. 
Write  to  'im  an'  say  so.' 

"  We  didn'  know  nuthin'  'bout  dis  den.  We  wuz 
a-fightin'  an'  a-fightin'  all  dat  time ;  an'  come  one 
day  a  letter  to  Marse  Chan,  an'  I  see  'im  start  to 
read  it  in  his  tent,  an'  he  face  hit  look  socu'ious,  an' 
he  han's  trembled  so  I  couldn'  mek  out  what  wuz 
de  matter  wid  'im.  An'  he  fol'  de  letter  up  an'  wen* 
out  an'  wen'  way  down  'hine  de  camp,  an'  stayed 
dyah  'bout  nigh  an  hour.  Well,  seh,  I  wuz  on  de 
lookout  for  'im  when  he  come  back,  an',  fo'  Gord,  ef 
he  face  didn'  shine  like  a  angel's !  I  say  to  myse'f, 
*Um'm!  ef  de  glory  o'  Gord  ain'  done  shine  on 
'im  ! '  An'  what  yo'  'spose  'twuz? 

"  He  tuk  me  wid  'im  dat  evenin',  an'  he  tell  me 


32  In  Ole  Virginia. 

he  hed  done  git  a  letter  from  Miss  Anne,  an'  Marse 
Chan  he  eyes  look  like  gre't  big  stars,  an'  he  face 
wuz  jes'  like  'twuz  dat  mawnin'  when  de  sun  riz  up 
over  de  low  groun',  an'  I  see  'im  stan'in'  dyah  wid 
de  pistil  in  he  han',  lookin'  at  it,  an'  not  knowin' 
but  what  it  mout  be  de  lars'  time,  an*  he  done  mek 
up  he  mine  not  to  shoot  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  fur 
Miss  Anne's  sake,  what  writ  'im  de  letter. 

"  He  for  de  letter  wha'  was  in  his  han'  up,  an* 
put  it  in  he  inside  pocket — right  dyar  on  de  lef 
side ;  an'  den  he  tole  me  he  tho't  mebbc  we  wuz 
gwine  hev  some  warm  wuk  in  de  nex'  two  or  th'ee, 
days,  an'  arfter  dat  ef  Gord  speared  'im  he'd  git  a 
leave  o'  absence  fur  a  few  days,  an'  we'd  go  home. 

"  Well,  dat  night  de  orders  come^an'  we  all  hed 
to  git  over  to'ds  Romney ;  an'  we  rid  all  night  till 
'bout  light ;  an'  we  halted  right  on  a  little  creek,  an* 
we  stayed  dyah  till  mos'  breakfas'  time,  an'  I  see 
Marse  Chan  set  down  on  de  groun'  'hine  a  bush  an' 
read  dat  letter  over  an'  over.  I  watch  'im,  an'  de 
battle  wuz  a-goin'  on,  but  we  had  orders  to  stay 
'hine  de  hill,  an'  ev'y  now  an'  den  de  bullets  would 
cut  de  limbs  o'  de  trees  right  over  us,  an'  one  o'  dem 
big  shells  what  goes  ' Awhar — awhar — awhar!  ' 
would  fall  right  'mong  us  ;  but  Marse  Chan  he  didn' 
mine  it  no  mo'n  nuthin' !  Den  it  'peared  to  git 
closer  an'  thicker,  and  Marse  Chan  he  calls  me,  an* 
I  crep*  up,  an'  he  sez : 

"  '  Sam,  we'se  goin'  to  win  in  dis  battle,  an'  den 


Marse  Chan.  33 

we'll  go  home  an'  git  married ;  an'  Fse  goin'  home 
wid  a  star  on  my  collar.'  An'  den  he  sez,  '  Ef  I'm 
wounded,  kyar  me  home,  yo'  hear  ? '  An'  I  sez, 
'Yes,  Marse  Chan.' 

"  Well,  jes'  den  dey  blowed  boots  an'  saddles,  'an 
we  mounted  ;  an'  de  orders  come  to  ride  'roun'  de 
slope,  an'  Marse  Chan's  comp'ny  wuz  de  secon',  an' 
when  we  got  'roun'  dyah,  we  wuz  right  in  it.  Hit 
wuz  de  wust  place  ever  dis  nigger  got  in.  An'  dey 
said,  *  Charge  'em  !  '  an'  my  king !  ef  ever  you  see 
bullets  fly,  dey  did  dat  day.  Hit  wuz  jes'  like  hail ; 
an'  we  wen'  down  de  slope  (I  long  wid  de  res')  an' 
up  de  hill  right  to'ds  de  cannons,  an'  de  fire  wuz  so 
strong  dyar  (dey  hed  a  whole  rigiment  o'  infintrys 
layin'  down  dyar  onder  de  cannons)  our  lines  sort  o' 
broke  an'  stop ;  de  cun'l  was  kilt,  an'  I  b'lieve  dey 
wuz  jes'  'bout  to  bre'k  all  to  pieces,  when  Marse 
Chan  rid  up  an'  cotch  hoi'  de  fleg  an'  hollers,  *  Fol- 
ler  me  ! '  an'  rid  strainin'  up  de  hill  'mong  de  can- 
nons. I  seen  'im  when  he  went,  de  sorrel  four  good 
lengths  ahead  o'  ev'y  urr  hoss,  jes'  like  he  use'  to 
be  in  a  fox-hunt,  an'  de  whole  rigiment  right  arfter 
'im.  Yo'  ain'  nuver  hear  thunder  !  Fust  thing  I 
knowed,  de  roan  roll'  head  over  heels  an'  flung  me 
up  'g'inst  de  bank,  like  yo'  chuck  a  nubbin  over 
'g'inst  de  foot  o'  de  corn  pile.  An  dat's  what  kep' 
me  from  bein'  kilt,  I  'spects.  Judy  she  say  she 
think  'twuz  Providence,  but  I  think  'twuz  de  bank. 
O'  co'se,  Providence  put  de  bank  dyah,  but  how 
3 


34  In  Ole  Virginia. 

come  Providence  nuver  saved  Marse  Chan  ?  When 
I  look'  'roun',  de  roan  wuz  layin'  dyah  by  me,  stone 
dead,  wid  a  cannon-ball  gone  'mos'  th'oo  him,  an 
our  men  hed  done  swep'  dem  on  t'urr  side  from 
de  top  o'  de  hill.  'Twan'  mo'n  a  minit,  de  sorrel 
come  gallupin'  back  wid  his  mane  flyin',  an'  de  rein 
hangin'  down  on  one  side  to  his  knee.  '  Dyar !  ' 
says  I,  '  fo'  Gord  !  I  'specks  dey  done  kill  Marse 
Chan,  an'  I  promised  to  tek  care  on  him.' 

"  I  jumped  up  an'  run  over  de  bank,  an'  dyar,  wid 
a  whole  lot  o'  dead  men,  an'  some  not  dead  yit, 
onder  one  o'  de  guns  wid  de  fleg  still  in  he  han',  an* 
a  bullet  right  th'oo  he  body,  lay  Marse  Chan.  I 
tu'n  'im  over  an'  call  'im,  '  Marse  Chan  ! '  but  'twan' 
no  use,  he  wuz  done  gone  home,  sho'  'nuff.  I  pick' 
'im  up  in  my  arms  wid  de  fleg  still  in  he  han's,  an' 
toted  'im  back  jes'  like  I  did  dat  day  when  he  wuz 
a  baby,  an'  ole  marster  gin  'im  to  me  in  my  arms, 
an'  sez  he  could  trus'  me,  an'  tell  me  to  tek  keer  on 
'im  long  ez  he  lived.  I  kyar'd  'im  'way  off  de  bat- 
tlefiel'  out  de  way  o'  de  balls,  an'  I  laid  'im  down 
onder  a  big  tree  till  I  could  git  somebody  to  ketch 
de  sorrel  for  me.  He  wuz  cotched  arfter  a  while, 
an'  I  hed  some  money,  so  I  got  some  pine  plank 
an'  made  a  coffin  dat  evenin',  an'  wrapt  Marse  Chan's 
body  up  in  de  fleg,  an'  put  'im  in  de  coffin  ;  but  I 
didn'  nail  de  top  on  strong,  'cause  I  knowed  ole 
missis  wan'  see  'im  ;  an'  I  got  a'  ambulance  an'  set 
out  for  home  dat  night.  We  reached  dyar  de  nex* 


Marse  Chan.  35 

evein',  arfter  travellin*  all  dat  night  an*  all  nex' 
day. 

"  Hit  'peared  like  somethin'  bed  tole  ole  missis 
we  wuz  comin'  so ;  for  when  we  got  home  she  wuz 
waitin'  for  us — done  drest  up  in  her  best  Sunday- 
clo'es,  an'  stan'n'  at  de  head  o'  de  big  steps,  an'  ole 
marster  settin'  in  his  big  cheer — ez  we  druv  up  de 
hill  to'ds  de  house,  I  drivin'  de  ambulance  an'  de 
sorrel  leadin'  'long  behine  wid  de  stirrups  crost  over 
de  saddle. 

"  She  come  down  to  de  gate  to  meet  us.  We  took 
de  coffin  out  de  ambulance  an'kyar'd  it  right  into  de 
big  parlor  wid  de  pictures  in  it,  whar  dey  use*  to 
dance  in  ole  times  when  Marse  Chan  wuz  a  school- 
boy, an'  Miss  Anne  Chahmb'lin  use'  to  come  over, 
an*  go  wid  ole  missis  into  her  chamber  an'  tek  her 
things  off.  In  dyar  we  laid  de  coffin  on  two  o'  de 
cheers,  an'  ole  missis  nuver  said  a  wud  ;  she  jes' 
looked  so  ole  an'  white. 

"  When  I  had  tell  'em  all  'bout  it,  I  tu'ned  right 
'roun'  an'  rid  over  to  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's,  'cause  I 
knowed  dat  wuz  what  Marse  Chan  he'd  V  wanted 
me  to  do.  I  didn'  tell  nobody  whar  I  wuz  gwine, 
'cause  yo'  know  none  on  'em  hadn'  nuver  speak  to 
Miss  Anne,  not  sence  de  duil,  an'  dey  didn'  know 
'bout  de  letter. 

"  When  I  rid  up  in  de  yard,  dyar  wuz  Miss  Anne 
a-stan'in'  on  de  poach  watchin'  me  ez  I  rid  up.  I 
tied  my  hoss  to  de  fence,  an'  walked  up  de  parf. 


36  In  Ole  Virginia. 

She  knowed  by  de  way  I  walked  dyar  wuz  some- 
thin'  de  motter,  an'  she  wuz  mighty  pale.  I  drapt 
my  cap  down  on  de  een'  o'  de  steps  an'  went  up. 
She  nuver  opened  her  mouf  ;  jes'  stan'  right  still 
an'  keep  her  eyes  on  my  face.  Fust,  I  couldn* 
speak  ;  den  I  cotch  my  voice,  an'  I  say,  '  Marse  Chan, 
he  done  got  he  furlough/ 

"  Her  face  was  mighty  ashy,  an*  she  sort  o'  shook, 
but  she  didn'  fall.  She  tu'ned  roun'  an'  said,  '  Git 
me  de  ker'ige  ! '  Dat  wuz  all. 

"When  de  ker'ige  come  'roun',  she  hed  put  on 
her  bonnet,  an'  wuz  ready.  Ez  she  got  in,  she  sey 
to  me,  '  Hev  yo'  brought  him  home?'  an'  we  drove 
'long,  I  ridin'  behine. 

"  When  we  got  home,  she  got  out,  an'  walked  up 
de  big  walk — up  to  de  poach  by  herse'f.  Ole  missis 
hed  done  fin'  de  letter  in  Marse  Chan's  pocket,  wid 
de  love  in  it,  while  I  wuz  'way,  an'  she  wuz  a-waitin' 
on  de  poach.  Dey  sey  dat  wuz  de  fust  time  ole 
missis  cry  when  she  find  de  letter,  an'  dat  she 
sut'n'y  did  cry  over  it,  pintedly. 

"  Well,  sell,  Miss  Anne  she  walks  right  up  de 
steps,  mos'  up  to  ole  missis  stan'in'  dyar  on  de 
poach,  an'  jes'  falls  right  down  mos'  to  her,  on  her 
knees  fust,  an'  den  flat  on  her  face  right  on  de  flo', 
ketchin'  at  ole  missis'  dress  wid  her  two  han's — so. 

"  Ole  missis  stood  for  'bout  a  minit  lookin'  down 
at  her,  an'  den  she  drapt  down  on  de  flo'  by  her,  an* 
took  her  in  bofe  her  arms. 


Marse  Chan.  37 

"  I  couldn'  see,  I  wuz  cryin'  so  myse'f,  an*  ev'y- 
body  wuz  cryin'.  But  dey  went  in  arfter  a  while  in 
de  parlor,  an*  shet  de  do';  an'  I  heahd  'em  say,  Miss 
Anne  she  tuk  de  coffin  in  her  arms  an'  kissed  it,  an' 
kissed  Marse  Chan,  an'  call  'im  by  his  name,  an' her 
darlin',  an'  ole  missis  lef'her  cryin' in  dyar  tell  some 
on  'em  went  in,  an'  found  her  done  faint  on  de  flo'. 

"  Judy  (she's  my  wife)  she  tell  me  she  heah  Miss 
Anne  when  she  axed  ole  missis  mout  she  wear 
mo'nin'  fur  'im.  I  don'  know  how  dat  is  ;  but  when 
we  buried  'im  nex'  day,  she  wuz  de  one  whar  walked 
arfter  de  coffin,  holdin'  ole  marster,  an'  ole  missis 
she  walked  next  to  'em. 

"  Well,  we  buried  Marse  Chan  dyar  in  de  ole 
grabeyard,  wid  de  fleg  wrapped  roun'  'im,  an'  he  face 
lookin'  like  it  did  dat  mawnin'  down  in  de  low 
groun's,  wid  de  new  sun  shinin'  on  it  so  peaceful. 

"  Miss  Anne  she  nuver  went  home  to  stay  arfter 
dat  ;  she  stay  wid  ole  marster  an'  ole  missis  ez  long 
ez  dey  lived.  Dat  warn'  so  mighty  long,  'cause  ole 
marster  he  died  dat  fall,  when  dey  wuz  fallerin'  fur 
wheat — I  had  jes'  married  Judy  den — an'  ole  missis 
she  warn'  long  behine  him.  We  buried  her  by  him 
next  summer.  Miss  Anne  she  went  in  de  hospitals 
toreckly  arfter  ole  missis  died  ;  an'  jes'  fo'  Richmond 
fell  she  come  home  sick  wid  de  fever.  Yo'  nuver 
would  'a'  knowed  her  fur  de  same  ole  Miss  Anne. 
She  wuz  light  ez  a  piece  o'  peth,  an'  so  white,  'cep' 
her  eyes  an'  her  sorrel  hyar,  an'  she  kep'  on  gittin' 


38  In  Ole   Virginia. 

whiter  an'  weaker.  Judy  she  sut'n'y  did  nuss  her 
faithful.  But  she  nuver  got  no  betterment !  De 
fever  an'  Marse  Chan's  bein'  kilt  hed  done  strain 
her,  an'  she  died  jes'  fo'  de  folks  wuz  sot  free. 

"  So  we  buried  Miss  Anne  right  by  Marse  Chan, 
in  a  place  whar  ole  missis  hed  tole  us  to  leave,  an' 
dey's  bofe  on  'em  sleep  side  by  side  over  in  de  ole 
grabeyard  at  home. 

"  An'  will  yo'  please  tell  me,  marster?  Dey  tells 
me  dat  de  Bible  sey  dyar  won'  be  marryin'  nor 
givin'  in  marriage  in  heaven,  but  I  don'  b'lieve  it 
signifies  dat — does  you  ?  " 

I  gave  him  the  comfort  of  my  earnest  belief  in 
some  other  interpretation,  together  with  several 
spare  u  eighteen-pences,"  as  he  called  them,  for 
which  he  seemed  humbly  grateful.  And  as  I  rode 
away  I  heard  him  calling  across  the  fence  to  his  wife, 
who  was  standing  in  the  door  of  a  small  white- 
washed cabin,  near  which  we  had  been  standing  for 
some  time: 

"  Judy,  have  Marse  Chan's  dawg  got  home?" 


"UNC  EDINBURGH  DROWNDINV 

A  PLANTATION   ECHO. 

WELL,  sub,  dat's  a  fac— dat's  what  Marse 
George  al'ays  said.  Tis  hard  to  spile 
Christmas  anyways." 

The  speaker  was  "  Unc'  Edinburg,"  the  driver 
from  Werrowcoke,  where  I  was  going  to  spend 
Christmas ;  the  time  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the 
place  the  muddiest  road  in  eastern  Virginia — a 
measure  which,  I  feel  sure,  will,  to  those  who  have 
any  experience,  establish  its  claim  to  distinction. 

A  half-hour  before  he  had  met  me  at  the  station, 
the  queerest-looking,  raggedest  old  darky  conceiva- 
ble, brandishing  a  cedar-staffed  whip  of  enormous 
proportions  in  one  hand,  and  clutching  a  calico  let- 
ter-bag with  a  twisted  string  in  the  other  ;  and  with 
the  exception  of  a  brief  interval  of  temporary  sus- 
picion on  his  part,  due  to  the  unfortunate  fact  that 
my  luggage  consisted  of  only  a  hand-satchel  instead 
of  a  trunk,  we  had  been  steadily  progressing  in 
mutual  esteem. 

"  Dee's  a  boy  standin'  by  my  mules ;  I  got  de 
ker'idge  heah  for  you,"  had  been  his  first  remark  on 


4O  In  Ole   Virginia. 

my  making  myself  known  to  him.  4<  Mistis  say  as 
how  you  might  bring  a  trunk." 

I  at  once  saw  my  danger,  and  muttered  something 
about  "  a  short  visit,"  but  this  only  made  matters 
worse. 

"  Dee  don'  nobody  nuver  pay  short  visits  dyah," 
he  said,  decisively,  and  I  fell  to  other  tactics. 

"  You  couldn'  spile  Christmas  den  noways,"  he  re- 
peated, reflectingly,  while  his  little  mules  trudged 
knee-deep  through  the  mud.  "  'Twuz  Christmas  den, 
sho'  'nough,"  he  added,  the  fires  of  memory  smoul- 
dering, and  then,  as  they  blazed  into  sudden  flame, 
he  asserted,  positively :  "  Dese  heah  free-issue  nig- 
gers don'  know  what  Christmas  is.  Hawg  meat  an* 
pop  crackers  don'  meek  Christmas.  Hit  tecks  ole 
times  to  meek  a  sho'-'nough,  tyahin'-down  Christ- 
mas. Gord !  I's  seen  'em  !  But  de  wuss  Christ- 
mas I  ever  seen  tunned  out  de  best  in  de  een,"  he 
added,  with  sudden  warmth,  "  an'  dat  wuz  de 
Christmas  me  an*  Marse  George  an'  Reveller  all  got 
drownded  down  at  Braxton's  Creek.  You's  hearn 
'bout  dat  ?  " 

As  he  was  sitting  beside  me  in  solid  flesh  and 
blood,  and  looked  as  little  ethereal  in  his  old  hat 
and  patched  clothes  as  an  old  oak  stump  would  have 
done,  and  as  Colonel  Staunton  had  made  a  world- 
wide reputation  when  he  led  his  regiment  through 
the  Chickahominy  thickets  against  McClellan's  in- 
trenchments,  I  was  forced  to  confess  that  I  had  never 


"Unc   Edinburg' s  Drowndin'.'1  41 

been  so  favored,  but  would  like  to  hear  about  it  now  ; 
and  with  a  hitch  of  the  lap  blanket  under  his  outside 
knee,  and  a  supererogatory  jerk  of  the  reins,  he  began: 

"  Well,  you  know,  Marse  George  was  jes'  eighteen 
when  he  went  to  college.  I  went  wid  him,  'cause 
me  an'  him  wuz  de  same  age  ;  I  was  born  like  on  a 
Sat'day  in  de  Christmas,  an'  he  wuz  born  in  de  new- 
year  on  a  Chuesday,  an'  my  mammy  nussed  us  bofe 
at  one  breast.  Dat's  de  reason  maybe  huccome  we 
took  so  to  one  nurr.  He  sutney  set  a  heap  o'  sto' 
by  me  ;  an'  I  'ain'  nuver  see  nobody  yit  wuz  good  to 
me  as  Marse  George." 

The  old  fellow,  after  a  short  reverie,  went  on  : 

"  Well,  we  growed  up  togerr,  jes  as  to  say  two 
stalks  in  one  hill.  We  cotch  ole  hyahs  togerr,  an' 
we  hunted  'possums  togerr,  an'  'coons.  Lord  !  he 
wuz  a  climber  !  I  'member  a  fight  he  had  one  night 
up  in  de  ve'y  top  of  a  big  poplar  tree  wid  a  'coon, 
whar  he  done  gone  up  after,  an'  he  flung  he  hat 
over  he  head  ;  an'  do'  de  varmint  leetle  mo'  tyah 
him  all  to  pieces,  he  fetch  him  down  dat  tree  'live ; 
an'  me  an'  him  had  him  at  Christmas.  'Coon  meat 
mighty  good  when  dee  fat,  you  know  ?  " 

As  this  was  a  direct  request  for  my  judgment,  I 
did  not  have  the  moral  courage  to  raise  an  issue, 
although  my  views  on  the  subject  of  'coon  meat  are 
well  known  to  my  family ;  so  I  grunted  something 
which  I  doubt  not  he  took  for  assent,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded : 


42  In  Ole   Virginia. 

"  Dee  warn'  nuttin  he  didn'  lead  de  row  in  ;  he 
wuz  de  bes'  swimmer  I  ever  see,  an'  he  handled  a 
skiff  same  as  a  fish  handle  heself.  An'  I  wuz  wid 
him  constant ;  wharever  you  see  Marse  George,  dyah 
Edinburg  sho',  jes'  like  he  shadow.  So  twuz,  when 
he  went  to  de  university  ;  'twarn'  nuttin  would  do 
but  I  got  to  go  too.  Marster  he  didn'  teck  much  to 
de  notion,  but  Marse  George  wouldn'  have  it  no  urr 
way,  an'  co'se  mistis  she  teck  he  side.  So  I  went 
'long  as  he  body-servant  to  teck  keer  on  him  an' 
help  meek  him  a  gent'man.  An'  he  wuz,  too.  From 
time  he  got  dyah  tell  he  cum  'way  he  wuz  de  head 
man. 

u  Dee  warn'  but  one  man  dyah  didn'  compliment 
him,  an'  dat  wuz  Mr.  Darker.  But  he  warn'  nut- 
tin  !  not  dat  he  didn'  come  o'  right  good  fambly — 
'cep'  dee  politics ;  but  he  wuz  sutney  pitted,  jes' 
like  sometimes  you  see  a  weevly  runty  pig  in  a 
right  good  litter.  Well,  Mr.  Darker  he  al'ays  'ginst 
Marse  George;  he  hate  me  an  him  bofe,  an'  he  sut- 
ney act  mischeevous  todes  us ;  'cause  he  know  he 
warn'  as  we  all.  De  Stauntons  dee  wuz  de  popu- 
laritiest  folks  in  Virginia ;  an'  dee  wuz  high-larnt 
besides.  So  when  Marse  George  run  for  de  medal, 
an'  wuz  to  meek  he  gret  speech,  Mr.  Darker  he 
speak  'ginst  him.  Dat's  what  Marse  George  whip 
him  'bout.  'Ain'  nobody  nuver  told  you  'bout  dat  ?  " 

I  again  avowed  my  misfortune ;  and  although 
it  manifestly  aroused  new  doubts,  he  worked 


"Unc'  Edinburg' s  Drowndin*  "  43 

it  off  on  the  mules,  and  once  more  took  up  his 
story  : 

"  Well,  you  know,  dee  had  been  speakin'  'ginst 
one  nurr  ev'y  Sat'dy  night ;  and  ev'ybody  knowed 
Marse  George  wuz  de  bes'  speaker,  but  dee  give  him 
one  mo'  sho',  an'  dee  was  bofe  gwine  spread  dee- 
selves,  an'  dee  wuz  two  urr  gent'mens  also  gwine 
speak.  An'  dat  night  when  Mr.  Darker  got  up  he 
meek  sich  a  fine  speech  ev'ybody  wuz  s'prised  ;  an' 
some  on  'em  say  Mr.  Darker  done  beat  Marse 
George.  But  shuh  !  I  know  better'n  dat ;  an'  Marse 
George  face  look  so  curious ;  but,  suh,  when  he  riz 
I  knowed  der  wuz  somen  gwine  happen — I  wuz 
leanin'  in  de  winder.  He  jes  step  out  in  front  an' 
throwed  up  he  head  like  a  horse  wid  a  rank  kyurb 
on  him,  and  den  he  begin  ;  an'  twuz  jes  like  de  river 
when  hit  gits  out  he  bank.  He  swep'  ev'ything. 
When  he  fust  open  he  mouf  I  knowed  twuz  comin' ; 
he  face  wuz  pale,  an'  he  wuds  tremble  like  a  fiddle- 
string,  but  he  eyes  wuz  blazin',  an'  in  a  minute  he 
wuz  jes  reshin'.  He  voice  soun'  like  a  bell ;  an'  he 
jes  wallered  dat  turr  man,  an'  wared  him  out ;  an' 
when  he  set  down  dee  all  yelled  an'  hollered  so  you 
couldn'  heah  you'  ears.  Gent'mans,  twuz  royal ! 

"  Den  dee  tuck  de  vote,  an'  Marse  George  got  it 
munanimous,  an'  dee  all  hollered  agin,  all  'cep'  a  few 
o'  Mr.  Darker's  friends.  An'  Mr.  Darker  he  wuz  de 
second.  An'  den  dee  broke  up.  An'  jes  den  Marse 
George  walked  thoo  de  crowd  straight  up  to  him, 


44  In  Ole  Virginia. 

an'  lookin'  him  right  in  de  eyes,  says  to  him,  '  You 
stole  dat  speech  you  made  to-night.'  Well,  suh, 
you  ought  to  'a  hearn  'em;  hit  soun'  like  a  mill-dam. 
You  couldn'  heah  nuttin  'cep'  roarin',  an'  you  couldn* 
see  nuttin  'cep'  shovin' ;  but,  big  as  he  wuz,  Marse 
George  beat  him  ;  an'  when  dee  pull  him  off,  do'  he 
face  wuz  mighty  pale,  he  stan'  out  befo'  'em  all, 
dem  whar  wuz  'ginst  him,  an'  all,  an'  as  straight  as 
an  arrow,  an'  say:  'Dat  speech  wuz  written  an' 
printed  years  ago  by  somebody  or  nurr  in  Congress, 
an'  this  man  stole  it ;  had  he  beat  me  only,  I  should 
not  have  said  one  word ;  but  as  he  has  beaten 
others,  I  shall  show  him  up  ! '  Gord,  suh,  he  voice 
wuz  clear  as  a  game  rooster.  I  sutney  wuz  proud 
on  him. 

"  He  did  show  him  up,  too,  but  Mr.  Darker  ain' 
wait  to  see  it ;  he  lef  dat  night.  An'  Marse  George 
he  wuz  de  popularest  gent'man  at  dat  university. 
He  could  handle  dem  students  dyah  same  as  a  man 
handle  a  hoe. 

"  Well,  tvvuz  de  next  Christmas  we  meet  Miss 
Charlotte  an'  Nancy.  Mr.  Braxton  invite  we  all  to 
go  down  to  spen'  Christmas  wid  him  at  he  home. 
An'  sich  a  time  as  we -had  ! 

11  We  got  dyah  Christmas  Eve  night — dis  very 
night — jes  befo'  supper,  an'  jes  natchelly  froze  to 
death,"  he  pursued,  dealing  in  his  wonted  hyper- 
bole, "an'  we  jes  had  time  to  git  a  apple  toddy  or 
two  when  supper  was  ready,  an'  wud  come  dat  dee 


"  Unc   Edinburgh  Drowndirf."  45 

wuz  waitin'  in  de  hall.  I  had  done  fix  Marse 
George  up  gorgeousome,  I  tell  you  ;  and  when  he 
walk  down  dem  stairs  in  dat  swaller-tail  coat,  an* 
dem  paten'-leather  pumps  on,  dee  warn  nay  one 
dyah  could  tetch  him ;  he  looked  like  he  own  'em 
all.  I  jes  rest  my  mind.  I  seen  him  when  he  shake 
hands  wid  'em  all  roun',  an'  I  say,  '  Um-m-m  !  he 
got  'em.' 

"  But  he  ain'  teck  noticement  o'  none  much  tell 
Miss  Charlotte  come.  She  didn'  live  dyah,  had  jes 
come  over  de  river  dat  evenin'  from  her  home,  'bout 
ten  miles  off,  to  spen'  Christmas  like  we  all,  an'  she 
come  down  de  stairs  jes  as  Marse  George  finish 
shakin'  hands.  I  seen  he  eye  light  on  her  as  she 
come  down  de  steps  smilin',  wid  her  dim  blue  dress 
trainin*  behind  her,  an'  her  little  blue  foots  peepin' 
out  so  pretty,  an'  holdin'  a  little  hankcher,  lookin' 
like  a  spider-web,  in  one  hand,  an'  a  gret  blue  fan  in 
turr,  spread  out  like  a  peacock  tail,  an'  jes  her 
roun'  arms  an'  th'oat  white,  an'  her  gret  dark  eyes 
lightin'  up  her  face.  I  say,  '  Dyah  'tis  ! '  and  when 
de  oleCun'l  stan'  aside  an'  interduce  'em,  an'  Marse 
George  step  for'ard  an'  meek  he  grand  bow,  an'  she 
sort  o'  swing  back  an'  gin  her  curtchy,  wid  her  dress 
sort  o'  dammed  up  'ginst  her,  an'  her  arms  so  white, 
an'  her  face  sort  o'  sunsetty,  I  say,  *  Yes,  Lord  !  Edin- 
burg,  dyah  you  mistis.'  Marse  George  look  like  he 
think  she  done  come  down  right  from  de  top  o'  de 
blue  sky  an'  bring  piece  on  it  wid  her.  He  ain' 


46  In  Ole  Virginia. 

nuver  took  he  eyes  from  her  dat  night.  Dee  glued 
to  her,  mun  !  an'  she— well,  do'  she  mighty  rosy,  an' 
look  mighty  unconsarned,  she  sutney  ain'  hender 
him.  Hit  look  like  kyarn  nobody  else  tote  dat  fan 
an'  pick  up  dat  hankcher  skusin  o'  him ;  an'  after 
supper,  when  dee  all  playin'  blindman's-buff  in  de 
hall — I  don'  know  how  twuz — but  do'  she  jes  as 
nimble  as  a  filly,  an'  her  ankle  jes  as  clean,  an'  she 
kin  git  up  her  dress  an'  dodge  out  de  way  o'  ev'y- 
body  else,  somehow  or  nurr  she  kyarn  help  him 
ketchin'  her  to  save  her  life ;  he  al'ays  got  her  corn- 
dered  ;  an'  when  dee'd  git  fur  apart,  dat  ain'  nuttin, 
dee  jes  as  sure  to  come  togerr  agin  as  water  is  whar 
you  done  run  you  hand  thoo.  An'  do'  he  kiss  ev'y- 
body  else  under  de  mistletow,  'cause  dee  be  sort  o' 
cousins,  he  ain'  nuver  kiss  her,  nor  nobody  else 
nurr,  'cep'  de  ole  Cun'l.  I  wuz  standin'  down  at 
de  een  de  hall  wid  de  black  folks,  an'  I  notice  it 
'tic'lar,^cause  I  done  meckde  'quaintance  o'  Nancy; 
she  wuz  Miss  Charlotte's  maid ;  a  mighty  likely 
young  gal  she  wuz  den,  an'  jes  as  impident  as  a  fly. 
She  see  it  too,  do'  she  ain'  'low  it. 

"  Fust  thing  I  know  I  seen  a  mighty  likely  light- 
skinned  gal  standin'  dyah  by  me,  wid  her  hyah  mos' 
straight  as  white  folks,  an'  a  mighty  good  frock  on, 
an'  a  clean  apron,  an'  her  hand  mos'  like  a  lady,  only 
it  brown,  an'  she  keep  on  Vidin'  her  eyes  twix  me 
an'  Miss  Charlotte;  when  I  watchin'  Miss  Charlotte 
she  watchin'  me,  an'  when  I  steal  my  eye  'roun'  on 


"  Unc*  Edinburg' s  Drowndiri '."  47 

her  she  noticin'  Miss  Charlotte;  an'  presney  I  sort 
o'  sidle  'longside  her,  an'  I  say,  '  Lady,  you  mighty 
sprightly  to-night/  An'  she  say  she  'bleeged  to  be 
sprightly,  her  mistis  look  so  good ;  an'  I  ax  her 
which  one  twuz,  an'  she  tell  me,  '  Dat  queen  one 
over  dyah,'  an'  I  tell  her  dee's  a  king  dyah  too,  she 
got  her  eye  set  for ;  an'  when  I  say  her  mistis  tryin' 
to  set  her  cap  for  Marse  George,  she  fly  up,  an'  say 
she  an*  her  mistis  don'  have  to  set  dee  cap  for  no- 
body; dee  got  to  set  dee  cap  an'  all  dee  clo'es  for 
dem,  an'  den  dee  ain'  gwine  cotch  'em,  'cause  dee 
am'  studyin'  'bout  no  up-country  folks  whar  dee 
ain'  nobody  know  nuttin  'bout. 

"Well,  dat  ouclaciousness  so  aggrivate  me,  I  lite 
into  dat  nigger  right  dyah.  I  tell  her  she  ain'  been 
nowhar  'tall  ef  she  don'  know  we  all  ;  dat  we  wuz 
de  bes'  of  quality,  de  ve'y  top  de  pot ;  an'  den  I  tell 
her  'bout  how  gret  we  wuz  ;  how  de  ker'idges  wuz 
al'ays  hitched  up  night  an'  day,  an'  niggers  jes  thick 
as  weeds;  an'  how  Unc'  Torm  he  wared  he  swaller- 
tail  ev'y  day  when  he  wait  on  de  table  ;  and  Marse 
George  he  won'  wyah  a  coat  mo'n  once  or  twice 
anyways,  to  save  you  life.  Oh !  I  sutney  'stonish 
dat  nigger,  'cause  I-wuz  teckin  up  for  de  fambly,  an* 
I  meek  out  like  dee  use  gold  up  home  like  urr  folks 
use  wood,  an'  sow  silver  like  urr  folks  sow  wheat ; 
an'  when  I  got  thoo  dee  wuz  all  on  'em  listenin',  an' 
she  'lowed  dat  Marse  George  he  were  ve'y  good, 
sho  'nough,  ef  twarn  for  he  nigger;  but  I  ain'  tarri- 


48  In  Ole  Virginia. 

fyin'  myself  none  'bout  dat,  'cause  I  know  she  jes 
projickin,  an'  she  couldn'  help  bein'  impident  ef  you 
wuz  to  whup  de  frock  off  her  back. 

"  Jes  den  dee  struck  up  de  dance.  Dee  had 
wheel  de  pianer  out  in  de  hall,  and  somebody  say 
Jack  Forester  had  come  cross  de  river,  an'  all  on 
'em  say  dee  mus'  git  Jack ;  an'  presney  he  come 
in  wid  he  fiddle,  grinnin'  and  scrapin',  'cause  he  wuz 
a  notable  fiddler,  do'  I  don'  think  he  wuz  equal  to  we 
all's  Tubal,  an'  I  know  he  couldn'  tech  Marse  George, 
'cause  Marse  George  wuz  a  natchel  fiddler,  jes  like 
'coons  is  natchel  pacers,  an'  mules  is  natchel  kickers. 
Howsomever,  he  sutney  jucked  a  jig  sweet,  an' 
when  he  shake  dat  bow  you  couldn'  help  you  foot 
switchin'  a  leetle — not  ef  you  wuz  a  member  of  de 
chutch.  He  wuz  a  mighty  sinful  man,  Jack  wuz, 
an'  dat  fiddle  had  done  drawed  many  souls  to  tor- 
ment. 

"  Well,  in  a  minute  dee  wuz  all  flyin',  an'  Jack  he 
wuz  rockin'  like  boat  rockin'  on  de  water,  an'  he 
face  right  shiny,  an'  he  teef  look  like  ear  o'  corn  he 
got  in  he  mouf,  an'  he  big  foot  set  'way  out  keepin' 
time,  an'  Marse  George  he  was  in  de  lead  row  dyah 
too  ;  ev'y  chance  he  git  he  tunned  Miss  Charlotte — 
'petchel  motion,  right  hand  across,  an*  cauliflower, 
an'  croquette — dee  croquette  plenty  o'  urrs,  but  I 
notice  dee  ain'  nuver  fail  to  tun  one  nurr,  an'  ev'y 
tun  he  gin  she  wrappin'  de  chain  roun'  him  ;  once 
when  dee  wuz  '  prominadin-all '  down  we  all's  een 


"  Unc*  Edinburgh  Drowndin*  "  49 

o'  de  hall,  as  he  tunned  her  somebody  step  on  her 
dress  an*  to'  it.  I  heah  de  screech  o'  de  silk,  an' 
Nancy  say,  '  O  Lord  ! '  den  she  say,  '  Nem  mine ! 
now  I'll  git  it  !  '  an'  dee  stop  for  a  minute  for  Marse 
George  to  pin  it  up,  while  turrers  went  on,  an' 
Marse  George  wuz  down  on  he  knee,  an'  she  look 
down  on  him  mighty  sweet  out  her  eyes,  an'  say, 
'  Hit  don'  meek  no  difference,'  an'  he  glance  up  an' 
cotch  her  eye,  an',  jes  'dout  a  wud,  he  tyah  a  gret 
piece  right  out  de  silk  an'  slipt  it  in  he  bosom,  an' 
when  he  got  up,  he  say,  right  low,  lookin'  in  her 
eyes  right  deep,  '  I  gwine  wyah  dis  at  my  weddin',' 
an'  she  jes  look  sweet  as  candy ;  an  ef  Nancy  ever 
wyah  dat  frock  I  ain'  see  it. 

"  Den  presney  dee  wuz  talkin'  'bout  stoppin'.  De 
ole  Cun'l  say  hit  time  to  have  prars,  an'  dee  wuz 
beggin'  him  to  wait  a  leetle  while;  an'  Jack  For- 
ester lay  he  fiddle  down  nigh  Marse  George,  an'  he 
picked  't  up  an'  drawed  de  bow  'cross  it  jes  to  try 
it,  an'  den  jes  projickin'  he  struck  dat  chune  'bout 
'You'll  ermember  me.'  He  hadn'  mo'n  tech  de 
string  when  you  could  heah  a  pin  drap.  Marse 
George  he  warn  noticin',  an'  he  jes  lay  he  face  on  de 
fiddle,  wid  he  eyes  sort  o'  half  shet,  an'  drawed  her 
out  like  he'd  do  some  nights  at  home  in  dee  moon- 
light on  de  gret  porch,  tell  on  a  sudden  he  looked 
up  an'  cotch  Miss  Charlotte  eye  lean  in'  for'ards  so 
earnest,  an'  all  on  'em  list'nin',  an'  he  stopt,  an'  dee 
all  clapt  dee  hands,  an'  he  sudney  drapt  into  a  jig. 

4 


50  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Jack  Forester  ain'  had  to  play  no  mo'  dat  night; 
even  de  ole  Cun'l  ketched  de  fever,  an'  he  stept  out 
in  de  flo',  in  he  long-tail  coat  an'  high  collar,  an* 
knocked  'em  off  de  l  Snow-bud  on  de  Ash-bank,' an* 
'Chicken  in  de  Bread-tray,'  right  natchel. 

u  Oh,  he  could  jes  plank  'em  down  ! 

"  Oh,  dat  wuz  a  Christmas  like  you  been  read 
'bout  !  An'  twuz  hard  to  tell  which  gittin  cotch 
most,  Marse  George  or  me  ;  'cause  dat  nigger  she  jes 
as  confusin'  as  Miss  Charlotte.  An'  she  sutneywuz 
sp'ilt  dem  days;  ev'y nigger  on  dat  place  got  he  eye 
on  her,  an'  she  jes  az  oudacious  an'  aggrivatin  as  jes 
womens  kin  be. 

"  Dees  monsus  'ceivin'  critters,  womens  is,  jes  as 
onreliable  as  de  hind-leg  of  a  mule ;  a  man  got  to 
watch  'em  all  de  time;  you  kyarn  break  'em  like 
you  kin  horses. 

u  Now  dat  off  mule  dyah"  (indicating,  by  a  lazy 
but  not  light  lash  of  his  whip  the  one  selected  for  his 
illustration),  "  dee  ain'  no  countin'  on  her  at  all ;  she 
go  'long  all  day,  or  maybe  a  week,  jes  dat  easy  an' 
sociable,  an'  fust  thing  you  know  you  ain'  know 
nuttin,  she  done  knock  you  brains  out ;  dee  ain'  no 
'pendence  to  be  placed  in  'em  'tall,  suh  ;  she  jes  as 
sweet  as  a  kiss  one  minute,  an'  next  time  she  come 
out  de  house  she  got  her  head  up  in  de  air,  an'  her 
ears  backed,  an'  goin'  'long  switchin'  herself  like  I 
ain'  good  'nough  for  her  to  walk  on. 

"  '  Fox-huntin's?'  oh,  yes,  suh,  ev'y  day  mos' ;  an' 


"  Unc   Edinburg' s  Drowndiri '"  51 

when  Marse  George  didn'  git  de  tail,  twuz  'cause 
twuz  a  bob-tail  fox — you  heah  me!  He  play  de 
fiddle  for  he  pastime,  but  he  fetched  up  in  de  saddle 
— dat  he  cradle  ! 

"  De  fust  day  dee  went  out  I  heah  Nancy  quoilin 
'bout  de  tail  layin'  on  Miss  Charlotte  dressin '-table 
gittin'  hyahs  over  ev'ything. 

"  One  day  de  ladies  went  out  too,  Miss  Charlotte 
'mongst  'em,  on  Miss  Lucy  gray  myah  Switchity, 
an'  Marse  George  he  rid  Mr.  Braxton's  chestnut 
Willful. 

"  Well,  suh,  he  stick  so  close  to  dat  gray  myah, 
he  leetle  mo'  los'  dat  fox  ;  but,  Lord  !  he  know  what 
he  'bout — he  monsus  'ceivin'  'bout  dat — he  know  de 
way  de  fox  gwine  jes  as  well  as  he  know  heself  ;  an* 
all  de  time  he  leadin'  Miss  Charlotte  whar  she  kin 
heah  de  music,  but  he  watchin'  him  too,  jes  as  nar- 
row as  a  ole  hound.  So,  when  de  fox  tun  de  head 
o'  de  creek,  Marse  George  had  Miss  Charlotte  on  de 
aidge  o'  de  flat,  an'  he  de  fust  man  see  de  fox  tun 
down  on  turr  side  wid  de  hounds  right  rank  after 
him.  Dat  sort  o'  set  him  back,  'cause  by  rights  de 
fox  ought  to  'a  double  an'  come  back  dis  side  :  he 
kyarn  git  out  dat  way;  an'  two  or  three  gent'mens 
dee  had  see  it  too,  an'  wuz  jes  layin  de  horses  to  de 
groun'  to  git  roun'  fust,  'cause  de  creek  wuz  heap 
too  wide  to  jump,  an'  wuz  'way  over  you  head,  an 

tiit  cold  as  Christmas,  sho  'nough  ;  well,  suh,  when 
lee  tunned,  Mr.  Clarke  he  wuz  in  de  lead  (he  wuz 


52  In  Ole   Virginia. 

ridin'  for  Miss  Charlotte  too),  an'  hit  fyah  set  Marse 
George  on  fire ;  he  am'  said  but  one  wud,  '  Wait/ 
an'  jes  set  de  chestnut's  head  straight  for  de  creek, 
whar  de  fox  comin'  wid  he  hyah  up  on  he  back,  an* 
de  dogs  ravlin  mos'  on  him. 

"  De  ladies  screamed,  an'  some  de  gent'mens  hol- 
lered for  him  to  come  back,  but  he  ain'  mind ;  he 
went  'cross  dat  flat  like  a  wild-duck;  an'  when  he 
retch  de  water  he  horse  try  to  flinch,  but  dat  hand 
on  de  bridle,  an'  dem  rowels  in  he  side,  an'  he 
'bleeged  to  teck  it. 

"  Lord  !  suh,  sich  a  screech  as  dee  set  up  !  But  he 
wuz  swimmin'  for  life,  an'  he  wuz  up  de  bank  an'  in 
de  middle  o'  de  dogs  time  dee  tetched  ole  Gray 
Jacket  ;  an'  when  Mr.  Clarke  got  dyah  Marse  George 
wuz  stan'in'  holdin'  up  de  tail  for  Miss  Charlotte  to 
see,  turr  side  de  creek,  an'  de  hounds  wuz  wallerin' 
all  over  de  body,  an'  I  don'  think  Mr.  Clarke  done 
got  up  wid  'em  yit. 

"  He  cotch  de  fox,  an'  he  cotch  some'n'  else  be- 
sides, in  my  'pinion,  'cause  when  de  ladies  went  up- 
stairs dat  night  Miss  Charlotte  had  to  wait  on  de 
steps  for  a  glass  o'  water,  an'  couldn'  nobody  git  it 
but  Marse  George ;  an'  den  when  she  tell  him  good- 
night over  de  banisters,  he  couldn'  say  it  good 
enough  ;  he  got  to  kiss  her  hand  ;  an'  she  ain'  do 
nuttin  but  jes  peep  upstairs  ef  anybody  dyah  lookin'; 
an'  when  I  come  thoo  de  do'  she  juck  her  hand  'way 
an'  ran  upstairs  jes  as  farst  as  she  could.  Marse 


"  Unc    Edinburg' s  Drowndin"  53 

George  look  at  me  sort  o'  laughin',  an'  say :  *  Con- 
found you  !  Nancy  couldn'  been  very  good  to  you.' 
An'  I  say,  '  She  le'  me  squench  my  thirst  kissin'  her 
hand  ; '  an'  he  sort  o'  laugh  an'  tell  me  to  keep  my 
mouf  shet. 

"  But  dat  ain'  de  on'y  time  I  come  on  'em.  Dee 
al'ays  gittin'  corndered  ;  an'  de  evenin'  befo'  we  come 
'way  I  wuz  gwine  in  thoo  de  conservity,  an'  dyah 
dee  wuz  sort  o'  hide  'way.  Miss  Charlotte  she  wuz 
settin'  down,  an'  Marse  George  he  wuz  leanin'  over 
her,  got  her  hand  to  he  face,  talkin'  right  low  an 
lookin'  right  sweet,  an'  she  ain'  say  nuttin  ;  an'  pres- 
ney  he  drapt  on  one  knee  by  her,  an'  slip  he  arm 
roun'  her,  an'  try  to  look  in  her  eyes,  an'  she  so 
'shamed  to  look  at  him  she  got  to  hide  her  face  on 
he  shoulder,  an'  I  slipt  out. 

"  We  come  'way  next  mornin'.  When  marster 
heah  'bout  it  he  didn'  teck  to  de  notion  at  all,  'cause 
her  pa — dat  is,  he  warn'  her  own  pa,  'cause  he  had 
married  her  ma  when  she  wuz  a  widder  after  Miss 
Charlotte  pa  died — an'  he  politics  warn'  same  as 
ourn.  '  Why,  you  kin  never  stand  him,suh,'  he  said 
to  Marse  George.  *  We  won't  mix  any  mo'n  fire  and 
water ;  you  ought  to  have  found  that  out  at  college ; 
dat  fellow  Darker  is  his  son.' 

"  Marse  George  he  say  he  know  dat ;  but  he  on'y 
de  step-brurr  of  de  young  lady,  an'  ain'  got  a  drap 
o'  her  blood  in  he  veins,  an'  he  didn'  know  it  when 
he  meet  her,  an'  anyhow  hit  wouldn'  meek  any  dif- 


54  In  Ole   Virginia. 

fence;  an' when  de  mistis  see  how  sot  Marse  George 
is  on  it  she  teck  he  side,  an'  dat  fix  it ;  'cause  when 
ole  mistis  warn  marster  to  do  a  thing,  hit  jes  good 
as  done.  I  don'  keer  how  much  he  rar  roun'  an'  say 
he  am'  gwine  do  it,  you  jes  well  go  'long  an'  put 
on  you  hat ;  you  gwine  see  him  presney  doin'  it  jes 
peaceable  as  a  lamb.  She  tun  him  jes  like  she  got 
bline-bridle  on  him,  an'  he  ain'  nuver  know  it. 

"  So  she  got  him  jes  straight  as  a  string.  An'  when 
de  time  come  for  Marse  George  to  go,  marster  he 
mo'  consarned  'bout  it  'n  Marse  George ;  he  ain' 
say  nuttin  'bout  it  befo'  ;  but  now  he  walkin'  roun' 
an'  roun'  axin  mistis  mo'  questions  'bout  he  does 
an*  he  horse  an'  all ;  an'  dat  mornin'  he  gi'  him  he 
two  Sunday  razors,  an'  gi'  me  a  pyah  o'  boots  an'  a 
beaver  hat,  'cause  I  wuz  gwine  wid  him  to  kyar  he 
portmanteau,  an'  git  he  shavin'  water,  sence  marster 
say  ef  he  wuz  gwine  marry  a  Locofoco,  he  at  least 
must  go  like  a  gent'man  ;  an'  me  an'  Marse  George 
had  done  settle  it  'twixt  us,  cause  we  al'ays  set  bofe 
we  traps  on  de  same  hyah  parf. 

"  Well,  we  got  'em,  an'  when  I  ax  dat  gal  out  on 
de  wood-pile  dat  night,  she  say  bein'  as  her  mistis 
gwine  own  me,  an'  we  bofe  got  to  be  in  de  same 
estate,  she  reckon  she  ain'  nuver  gwine  to  be  able  to 
git  shet  o'  me  ;  an'  den  I  clamp  her.  Oh,  she  wuz 
a  beauty !  " 

A  gesture  and  guffaw  completed  the  recital  of  his 
conquest. 


"  Unc    Edinburg' s  Drowndiri  "  55 

"Yes,  suh,  we  got  'em  sho !  "  he  said,  presently. 
"  Dee  couldn'  persist  us  ;  we  crowd  'em  into  de  fence 
an'  run  'em  off  dee  foots. 

"  Den  come  de  'gagement ;  an'  ev'ything  wuz 
smooth  as  silk.  Marse  George  an'  me  wuz  ridin' 
over  dyah  constant,  on'y  we  nuver  did  git  over  bein' 
skeered  when  we  wuz  ridin'  up  dat  turpentine  road 
facin'  all  dem  winders.  Hit  'pear  like  ev'ybody  in 
de  wull  'mos'  wuz  lookin'  at  us. 

"  One  evenin'  Marse  George  say,  '  Edinburg,  d'you 
ever  see  as  many  winders  p'intin'  one  way  in  you' 
life  ?  When  I  git  a  house,'  he  say,  '  I  gwine  have 
all  de  winders  lookin'  turr  way.' 

"  But  dat  evenin',  when  I  see  Miss  Charlotte  come 
walkin'  out  de  gret  parlor  wid  her  hyah  sort  o'  rum- 
pled over  her  face,  an'  some  yaller  roses  on  her 
bres,  an'  her  gret  eyes  so  soft  an'  sweet,  an'  Marse 
George  walkin'  'long  .hinst  her,  so  peaceable,  like 
she  got  chain  roun'  him,  I  say,  'Winders  ain'  nuttin.' 

"  Oh,  twuz  jes  like  holiday  all  de  time  !  An'  den 
Miss  Charlotte  come  over  to  see  mistis,  an'  of  co'se 
she  bring  her  maid  wid  her,  'cause  she  'bleeged  to 
have  her  maid,  you  know,  an'  dat  wuz  de  bes'  of 
all 

"  Dat  evenin',  'bout  sunset,  dee  come  drivin'  up  in 
de  big  ker'idge,  wid  de  gret  hyah  trunk  strapped  on 
de  seat  behind,  an'  Nancy  she  settin'  by  Billy,  an' 
Marse  George  settin'  inside  by  he  rose-bud,  'cause 
he  had  done  gone  down  to  bring  her  up  ;  an'  marster 


56  In   Ole   Virginia. 

he  done  been  drest  in  he  blue  coat  an'  yallow  west- 
ket  ever  sence  dinner,  an'  walkin'  roun',  watchin'  up 
de  road  all  de  time,  an'  tellin'  de  mistis  he  reckon 
dee  ain'  comin',  an  ole  mistis  she  try  to  pacify  him, 
an'  she  come  out  presney  drest,  an'  rustlin'  in  her 
stiff  black  silk  an'  all ;  an'  when  de  ker'idge  come  in 
sight,  ev'ybody  wuz  runnin' ;  an'  when  dee  draw  up 
to  de  do',  Marse  George  he  help  her  out  an'  'duce 
her  to  marster  an'  ole  mistis ;  an'  marster  he  start 
to  meek  her  a  gret  bow,  an'  she  jes  put  up  her  mouf 
like  a  little  gal  to  be  kissed,  an'  dat  got  him.  An' 
mistis  teck  her  right  in  her  arms  an*  kiss  her  twice, 
an'  de  servants  dee  wuz  all  peepin'  an'  grinnin'. 

"  Ev'ywhar  you  tun  you  see  a  nigger  teef,  'cause 
dee  all  warn  see  de  young  mistis  whar  good  'nough 
for  Marse  George.  Dee  ain'  gwine  be  married  tell 
de  next  fall,  'count  o'  Miss  Charlotte  bein'  so  young; 
but  she  jes  good  as  b'longst  to  we  all  now  ;  an'  ole 
marster  an'  mistis  dee  jes  as  much  in  love  wid  her 
as  Marse  George.  Hi!  dee  warn  pull  de  house 
down  an'  buil'  it  over  for  her !  An'  ev'y  han'  on  de 
place  he  peepin'  to  try  to  git  a  look  at  he  young 
mistis  whar  he  gwine  b'longst  to.  One  evenin'  dee 
all  on  'em  come  roun'  de  porch  an'  send  for  Marse 
George,  an'  when  he  come  out,  Charley  Brown  (he 
al'ays  de  speaker,  'cause  he  got  so  much  mouf,  kin' 
talk  pretty  as  white  folks),  he  say  dee  warn  interduce 
to  de  young  mistis,  an'  pay  dee  bespects  to  her  ;  an' 
presney  Marse  George  lead  her  out  on  de  porch 


"  Unc    Edinburgh  Drowndiri V  57 

laughin'  at  her,  wid  her  face  jes  rosy  as  a  wine-sap 
apple,  an'  she  meek  'em  a  beautiful  bow,  an'  speak 
to  'em  ev'y  one,  Marse  George  namin'  de  names; 
an'  Charley  Brown  he  meek  Iier  a  pretty  speech,  an' 
tell  her  we  mighty  proud  to  own  her :  an'  one  o' 
dem  impident  gals  ax  her  to  gin  her  dat  white  frock 
when  she  git  married ;  an'  when  she  say,  *  Well, 
what  am  I  goin'  wear?'  Sally  say,  'Lord,  honey, 
Marse  George  gwine  dress  you  in  pure  gol'  ! '  an' 
she  look  up  at  him  wid  sparks  flashin'  out  her  eyes, 
while  he  look  like  dat  ain'  good  'nough  for  her. 
An'  so  twuz,  when  she  went  'way,  Sally  Marshall 
got  dat  frock,  an'  proud  on  it  I  tell  you. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  sutney  mindin'  her  tender.  Hi ! 
when  she  go  to  ride  in  evenin'  wid  him,  de  ain'  no 
horse-block  good  'nough  for  her !  Marse  George 
got  to  have  her  step  in  he  hand  ;  an'  when  dee  out 
walkin'  he  got  de  umbreller  holdin'  't  over  her  all 
de  time,  he  so  feared  de  sun  '11  kiss  her ;  an*  dee 
walk  so  slow  down  dem  walks  in  de  shade  you  got 
to  sight  'em  by  a  tree  to  tell  ef  dee  movin'  'tall. 
She  use*  to  look  like  she  used  to  it  too,  I  tell  you, 
'cause  she  wuz  quality,  one  de  white-skinned  ones ; 
an'  she'd  set  in  dem  big  cheers,  wid  her  little  foots 
on  de  cricket  whar  Marse  George  al'ays  set  for  her, 
he  so  feared  dee'd  tetch  de  groun',  jes  like  she  on 
her  throne ;  an'  ole  marster  he'd  watch  her  'mos' 
edmirin  as  Marse  George ;  an'  when  she  went  'way 
hit  sutney  was  lonesome.  Hit  look  like  daylight 


58  In  Ole   Virginia. 

gone  wid  her.  I  don'  know  which  I  miss  mos',  Miss 
Charlotte  or  Nancy. 

"  Den  Marse  George  was  'lected  to  de  Legislature, 
an'  ole  Jedge  Darker  run  for  de  Senator,  an'  Marse 
George  vote  gin  him  and  beat  him.  An'  dat  com- 
mence de  fuss ;  an'  den  dat  man  gi'  me  de  whuppin, 
an'  dat  breck  'tup  an'  breck  he  heart. 

"  You  see,  after  Marse  George  wuz  'lected  ('lec- 
tions wuz  'lections  dem  days ;  dee  »warn'  no  bait- 
gode  'lections,  wid  ev'y  sort  o'  worms  squirmin'  up 
'ginst  one  nurr,  wid  piece  o'  paper  d'  ain'  know  what 
on,  drappin'  in  a  chink;  didn'  nuttin  but  gent'mens 
vote  den,  an'  dee  took  dee  dram,  an'  vote  out  loud, 
like  gent'mens) — well,  arter  Marse  George  wuz 
'lected,  de  parties  wuz  jes  as  even  balanced  as  stil- 
yuds,  an'  wen  dee  ax  Marse  George  who  wuz  to  be 
de  Senator,  he  vote  for  de  Whig,  'ginst  de  old'jedge, 
an'  dat  beat  him,  of  co'se.  An'  dee  ain'  got  sense 
to  know  he  'bleeged  to  vote  wid  he  politics.  Dat 
he  sprinciple ;  he  kyarn  vote  for  Locofoco,  I  don' 
keer  ef  he  is  Miss  Charlotte  pa,  much  less  her  step- 
pa.  Of  co'se  de  ole  jedge  ain'  speak  to  him  arter 
dat,  nur  is  Marse  George  ax  him  to.  But  who  dat 
gwine  s'pose  women-folks  got  to  put  dee  mouf  in 
too  ?  Miss  Charlotte  she  write  Marse  George  a  let- 
ter dat  pester  him  mightily ;  he  set  up  all  night 
answerin'  dat  letter,  an'  he  mighty  solemn,  I  tell 
you.  An'  I  wuz  gittin'  right  grewsome  myself, 
'cause  I  studyin'  'bout  dat  gal  down  dyah  whar  I 


"  Unc    Edinburg' s  Drowndiri"  59 

done  gi'  my  wud  to,  an'  when  dee  ain'  no  letters 
come  torectly  hit  hard  to  tell  which  one  de  anx- 
iouser,  me  or  Marse  George.  Den  presney  I  so 
'straughted  'long  o'  it  I  ax  Aunt  Haly  'bouten  it : 
she  know  all  sjch  things,  'cause  she  'mos'  a  hunderd 
years  ole,  an'  seed  evil  sperits,  an'  got  skoripins  up 
her  chimley,  an'  knowed  conjure  ;  an'  she  ax  me 
what  wuz  de  signication,  an'  I  tell  her  I  ain'  able 
nuther  to  eat  nor  to  sleep,  an'  dat  gal  come  foolin' 
'long  me  when  I  sleep  jes  like  as  natchel  as  ef  I  see 
her  sho  'nough.  An'  she  say  I  done  conjured  ;  dat 
de  gal  done  tricked  me. 

"  Oh,  Gord  !  dat  skeered  me  ! 

"  You  white  folks,  marster,  don'  b'lieve  nuttin  like 
dat ;  y'  all  got  too  much  sense,  'cause  y'  all  kin  read  ; 
but  niggers  dee  ain'  know  no  better,  an'  I  sutney 
wuz  skeered,  'cause  Aunt  Haly  say  my  coffin  done 
seasoned,  de  planks  up  de  chimley. 

"  Well,  I  got  so  bad  Marse  George  ax  me  'bout  it, 
an'  he  sort  o'  laugh  an'  sort  o'  cuss,  an'  he  tell  Aunt 
Haly  ef  she  don'  stop  dat  foolishness  skeerin'  me 
he'll  sell  her  an'  tyah  her  ole  skoripin  house  down. 
Well,  co'se  he  jes  talkin',  an'  he  ax  me  next  day 
how'd  I  like  to  go  an'  see  my  sweetheart.  Gord  ! 
suh,  I  got  well  torectly.  So  I  set  off  next  evenin', 
feelin'  jes  big  as  ole  marster,  wid  my  pass  in  my 
pocket,  which  I  warn'  to  show  nobody  'douten  I 
'bleeged  to,  'cause  Marse  George  didn't  warn  no- 
body to  know  he  le'  me  go.  An'  den  dat  rascallion 


60  In  Ole   Virginia. 

teck  de  shut  off  my  back.  But  ef  Marse  George 
didn'  pay  him  de  wuth  o'  it ! 

"  I  done  git  'long  so  good,  too. 

"  When  Nancy  see  me  she  sutney  was  'stonished. 
She  come  roun'  de  cornder  in  de  back  yard  whar  I 
settin'  in  Nat's  do'  (he  wuz  de  gardener),  wid  her 
hyah  all  done  untwist,  an'  breshed  out  mighty  fine, 
an'  a  clean  ap'on  wid  fringe  on  it,  meckin'  out  she 
so  s'prised  to  see  me  (whar  wuz  all  a  lie,  'cause  some 
on  'em  done  notify  her  I  dyah),  an'  she  say,  '  Hi! 
what  dis  black  nigger  doin'  heah  ? ' 

"  An'  I  say,  '  Who  you  callin'  nigger,  you  impi- 
dent,  kercumber-faced  thing  you  ? '  Den  we  shake 
hands,  an'  I  tell  her  Marse  George  done  set  me  free 
— dat  I  done  buy  myself;  dat's  de  lie  I  done  lay  off 
to  tell  her. 

"  An'  when  I  tole  her  dat,  she  bust  out  laughin', 
an'  say,  well,  I  better  go  'long  'way,  den,  dat  she 
don'  warn  no  free  nigger  to  be  comp'ny  for  her. 
Dat  sort  o'  set  me  back,  an'  I  tell  her  she  kickin'  'fo* 
she  spurred,  dat  I  ain'  got  her  in  my  mine ;  I  got  a 
nurr  gal  at  home  whar  grievin'  'bout  me  dat  ve'y 
minute.  An'  after  I  tell  her  all  sich  lies  as  dat 
presney  she  ax  me  ain'  I  hongry ;  an*  ef  dat  nigger 
didn'  git  her  mammy  to  gi'  me  de  bes'  supter ! 
Umm-m !  I  kin  mos'  tas'e  it  now.  Wheat  bread 
off  de  table,  an'  zerves,  an'  fat  bacon,  tell  I  couldn' 
put  a  nurr  moufful  nowhar  sep'n  I'd  teck  my  hat. 
Dat  night  I  tote  Nancy  water  for  her,  an*  I  tell  her 


"  Unc   Edinburgh  Drowndirf"  61 

all  'bout  ev'ything,  an'  she  jes  sweet  as  honey.  Next 
mornin',  do',  she  done  sort  o'  tunned  some,  an* am' 
so  sweet.  You  know  how  milk  gits  sort  o'  bonny- 
clabberish  ?  An'  when  she  see  me  she  'gin  to  'buse 
me — say  I  jes  tryin'  to  fool  her,  an'  all  de  time  got 
nurr  wife  at  home,  or  gittin'  ready  to  git  one,  for  all 
she  know,  an'  she  ain'  know  wherr  Marse  George 
ain'  jes  'ceivin'  as  I  is ;  an'  nem  mine,  she  got  plenty 
warn  marry  her ;  an'  as  to  Miss  Charlotte,  she  got 
de  whole  wull ;  Mr.  Darker  he  ain'  got  nobody  in 
he  way  now,  dat  he  deah  all  de  time,  an'  ain'  gwine 
West  no  mo'.  Well,  dat  aggrivate  me  so  I  tell  her 
ef  she  say  dat  'bout  Marse  George  I  gwine  knock 
her  ;  an'  wid  dat  she  got  so  oudacious  I  meek  out  I 
gwine  'way,  an'  lef  her,  an'  went  up  todes  de  barn  ; 
an'  up  dyah,  fust  thing  I  know,  I  come  across  dat 
ar  man  Mr.  Darker.  Soon  as  he  see  me  he  begin  to 
cuss  me,  an'  he  ax  me  what  I  doin'  on  dat  land,  an'  I 
tell  him  nuttin.  An'  he  say,  well,  he  gwine  gi'  me 
some'n;  he  gwine  teach  me  to  come  prowlin'  round 
gent'men's  houses.  An'  he  meek  me  go  in  de  barn 
an'  teck  off  my  shut,  an'  he  beat  me  wid  he  whup 
tell  de  blood  run  out  my  back.  He  sutney  did  beat 
me  scandalous,  'cause  he  done  hate  me  an'  Marse 
George  ever  since  we  wuz  at  college  togurr.  An' 
den  he  say:  '  Now  you  git  right  off  dis  land.  Ef 
either  you  or  you  marster  ever  put  you  foot  on 
it,  you'll  git  de  same  thing  agin.'  An'  I  tell  you, 
Edinburg  he  come  way,  'cause  he  sutney  had  worry 


62  In  Ole  Virginia. 

me.  I  ain'  stop  to  see  Nancy  or  nobody;  I  jes  come 
'long,  shakin'  de  dust,  I  tell  you.  An'  as  I  come  'long 
de  road  I  pass  Miss  Charlotte  walkin'  on  de  lawn 
by  herself,  an'  she  call  me  :  '  Why,  hi !  ain'  dat  Ed- 
inburg?' 

"  She  look  so  sweet,  an'  her  voice  soun'  so  cool,  I 
say, 'Yes'm;  how  you  do,  missis?'  An'  she  say, 
she  ve'y  well,  an'  how  I  been,  an'  whar  I  gwine  ?  I 
tell  her  I  ain'  feelin'  so  well,  dat  I  gwine  home. 
1  Hi ! '  she  say,  '  is  anybody  treat  you  bad  ?  '  An'  I 
tell  her,  '  Yes'm.'  An'  she  say,  *  Oh  !  Nancy  don' 
mean  nuttin  by  dat ;  dat  you  mus'n  mine  what 
womens  say,  an'  do,  'cause  dee  feel  sorry  for  it  next 
minute ;  an'  sometimes  dee  kyarn  help  it,  or  maybe 
hit  you  fault ;  an'  anyhow,  you  ought  to  be  willin' 
to  overlook  it ;  an'  I  better  go  back  an'  wait  till  to- 
morrow— ef — ef  I  ain'  'bleeged  to  git  home  to-day.' 

"  She  got  mighty  mixed  up  in  de  een  part  o'  dat, 
an'  she  looked  mighty  anxious  'bout  me  an'  Nancy ; 
an'  I  tell  her,  *  No'm,  I  'bleeged  to  git  home.' 

"  Well,  when  I  got  home  Marse  George  he  warn 
know  all  dat  gwine  on ;  but  I  mighty  sick — dat  man 
done  beat  me  so ;  an'  he  ax  me  what  de  marter,  an' 
I  upped  an'  tell  him. 

"  Gord !  I  nuver  see  a  man  in  sich  a  rage.  He 
call  me  in  de  office  an'  meek  me  teck  off  my  shut, 
an' he  fyah  bust  out  cryin'.  He  walked  up  an' down 
dat  office  like  a  caged  lion.  Ef  he  had  got  he  hand 
on  Mr.  Darker  den,  he'd  'a  kilt  him,  sho ! 


"  Unc   Edinburg' s  Drowndirf"  63 

"  He  wuz  most  'stracted.  I  don't  know  what  he'd 
been  ef.I'd  tell  him  what  Nancy  tell  me.  He  call 
for  Peter  to  git  he  horse  torectly,  an'  he  tell  me  to 
go  an'  git  some'n'  from  mammy  to  put  on  my  back, 
an'  to  go  to  bed  torectly,  an'  not  to  say  nuttin  to 
nobody,  but  to  tell  he  pa  he'd  be  away  for  two  days, 
maybe ;  an'  den  he  got  on  Reveller  an'  galloped 
'way  hard  as  he  could,  wid  he  jaw  set  farst,  an'  he 
heaviest  whup  clamped  in  he  hand.  Gord !  I  v/uz 
most  hopin'  he  wouldn'  meet  dat  man,  'cause  I 
feared  ef  he  did  he'd  kill  him ;  an'  he  would,  sho,  ef 
he  had  meet  him  right  den ;  dee  say  he  leetle  mo* 
did  when  he  fine  him  next  day,  an'  he  had  done  been 
ridin'  den  all  night ;  he  cotch  him  at  a  sto'  on  de 
road,  an'  dee  say  he  leetle  mo'  cut  him  all  to  pieces ; 
he  drawed  a  weepin  on  Marse  George,  but  Marse 
George  wrench  it  out  he  hand  an'  flung  it  over  de 
fence  ;  an'  when  dee  got  him  'way  he  had  weared 
he  whup  out  on  him  ;  an'  he  got  dem  whelps  on  him 
now,  ef  he  am'  dead.  Yes,  suh,  he  ain'  let  nobody 
else  do  dat  he  ain'  do  heself,  sho  ! 

"  Dat  done  de  business ! 

"  He  sont  Marse  George  a  challenge,  but  Marse 
George  sont  him  wud  he'll  cowhide  him  agin  ef  he 
ever  heah  any  mo'  from  him,  an'  he  'ain't.  Dat  per- 
rify  him,  so  he  shet  he  mouf.  Den  come  he  ring  an' 
all  he  pictures  an'  things  back — a  gret  box  on  'em, 
and  not  a  wud  wid  'em.  Marse  George,  I  think  he 
know'd  dee  wuz  comin',  but  dat  ain'  keep  it  from 


64  In  Ole  Virginia. 

huttin  him,  'cause  he  done  been  'gaged  to  Miss 
Charlotte,  an'  got  he  mine  riveted  to  her ;  an'  do* 
befo'  dat  dee  had  stop  writin',  an'  a  riff  done  git 
'twixt  'em,  he  am'  satisfied  in  he  mine  dat  she  ain't 
gwine  'pologizee — I  know  by  Nancy ;  but  now  he 
got  de  confirmation  dat  he  done  for  good,  an'  dat 
de  gret  gulf  fixed  'twix  him  an'  Aberham  bosom. 
An,'  Gord,  suh,  twuz  torment,  sho  'nough  !  He  ain* 
say  nuttin  'bout  it,  but  I  see  de  light  done  pass  from 
him,  an'  de  darkness  done  wrap  him  up  in  it.  In  a 
leetle  while  you  wouldn'  'a  knowed  him.  Den  ole 
mistis  died. 

"  B'lieve  me,  ole  marster  he  'most  much  hut  by 
Miss  Charlotte  as  Marse  George.  He  meek  a  'tempt 
to  buy  Nancy  for  me,  so  I  find  out  arterward,  an' 
write  Jedge  Darker  he'll  pay  him  anything  he'll  ax 
for  her,  but  he  letter  wuz  sont  back  'dout  any  an- 
swer. He  sutney  was  mad  'bout  it — he  say  he'd 
horsewhip  him  as  Marse  George  did  dat  urr  young 
puppy,  but  ole  mistis  wouldn'  le'  him  do  nuttin,  and 
den  he  grieve  heself  to  death.  You  see  he  mighty 
ole,  anyways.  He  nuver  got  over  ole  mistis'  death. 
She  had  been  failin'  a  long  time,  an'  he  ain'  tarry 
long  'hinst  her";  hit  sort  o'  like  breckin  up  a  holler 
— de  ole  'coon  goes  'way  soon  arter  dat ;  an'  mars- 
ter nuver  could  pin  he  own  collar  or  buckle  he 
own  stock — mistis  she  al'ays  do  dat ;  an'  do'  Marse 
George  do  de  bes'  he  kin,  an'  mighty  willin',  he 
kyarn  handle  pin  like  a  woman;  he  hand  tremble 


"  Unc    Edinburgh  Drowndiri  "  65 

like  a  p'inter  dog ;  an'  anyways  he  ain'  ole  mistis. 
So  ole  marster  foller  her  dat  next  fall,  when  dee 
wuz  gittin  in  de  corn,  an'  Marse  George  he  ain'  got 
nobody  in  de  wull  left ;  he  all  alone  in  dat  gret 
house,  an'  I  wonder  sometimes  he  ain'  die  too,  'cause 
he  sutney  wuz  fond  o'  ole  marster. 

"  When  ole  mistis  wuz  dyin',  she  tell  him  to  be 
good  to  ole  marster,  an'  patient  wid  him,  'cause  he 
ain'  got  nobody  but  him  now  (ole  marster  he  had  jes 
step  out  de  room  to  cry)  ;  an'  Marse  George  he  lean 
over  her  an'  kiss  her  an'  promise  her  faithful  he 
would.  An'  he  sutney  wuz  tender  wid  him  as  a 
woman  ;  an'  when  ole  marster  die,  he  set  by  him 
an'  hoi'  he  hand  an'  kiss  him  sorf,  like  he  wuz  ole 
mistis. 

"  But,  Gord  !  twuz  lonesome  arter  dat,  an'  Marse 
George  eyes  look  wistful,  like  he  al'ays  lookin'  far 
'way ;  an'  Aunt  Haly  say  he  see  harnts  whar  walk 
'bout  in  de  gret  house.  She  say  dee  walk  dyah  con- 
stant of  nights  sence  ole  marster  done  alterate  de 
rooms  from  what  dee  wuz  when  he  gran'pa  buil' 
'em,  an'  dat  dee  huntin'  for  dee  ole  chambers  an' 
kyarn  git  no  rest  'cause  dee  kyarn  fine  'em.  I  don't 
know  how  dat  wuz.  I  know  Marse  George  he  used 
to  walk  about  heself  mightily  of  nights.  All  night 
long,  all  night  long,  I'd  heah  him  tell  de  chickens 
crowin'  dee  second  crow,  an'  some  mornin's  I'd  go 
dyah  an'  he  ain'  even  rumple  de  bed.  I  thought  sho 
he  wuz  gwine  die,  but  I  suppose  he  done  'arn  he 
5 


66  In  Ole   Virginia. 

days  to  be  long  in  de  land,  an'  dat  save  him.  But 
hit  sutney  wuz  lonesome,  an'  he  nuver  went  off  de 
plantation,  an'  he  got  older  an'  older,  tell  we  all 
thought  he  wuz  gwine  die. 

"  An'  one  day  come  jes  befo'  Christmas,  'bout  nigh 
two  year  after  marster  die,  Mr.  Braxton  ride  up  to 
de  do'.  He  had  done  come  to  teck  Marse  George 
home  to  spen'  Christmas  wid  him.  Marse  George 
warn  git  out  it,  but  Mr.  Braxton  won'  teck  no  dis- 
app'intment ;  he  say  he  gwine  baptize  he  boy,  an'  he 
done  name  him  after  Marse  George  (he  had  marry 
Marse  George  cousin,  Miss  Peggy  Carter,  an'  he  vite 
Marse  George  to  de  weddin',  but  he  wouldn'  go,  do* 
I  sutney  did  want  him  to  go,  'cause  I  heah  Miss 
Charlotte  was  nominated  to  marry  Mr.  Darker,  an' 
I  warn  know  what  done  'come  o'  dat  bright-skinned 
nigger  gal  whar  I  used  to  know  down  dyah)  ;  an'  he 
say  Marse  George  got  to  come  an'  stan'  for  him,  an' 
gi'  him  a  silver  cup  an'  a  gol'  rattle.  So  Marse  George 
he  finally  promise  to  come  an'  spend  Christmas  Day, 
an'  Mr.  Braxton  went  'way  next  mornin',  an  den  hit 
tun  in  an*  rain  so  I  feared  we  couldn*  go,  but  hit 
cler  off  de  day  befo'  Christmas  Eve  an'  tun  cold. 
Well,  suh,  we  ain'  been  nowhar  for  so  long  I  wuz 
skittish  as  a  young  filly ;  an'  den  you  know  twuz  de 
same  ole  place. 

"  We  didn'  git  dyah  till  supper-time,  an'  twuz  a 
good  one  too,  'cause  seventy  miles  dat  cold  a  weath- 
er hit  whet  a  man's  honger  jes  like  a  whetstone. 


"  Unc*  Edinburgh  Drowndirf"  67 

"  Dee  sutney  wuz  glad  to  see  we  all.  We  rid 
roun'  by  de  back  yard  to  gi'  Billy  de  horses,  an'  we 
see  dee  wuz  havin'  gret  fixin's ;  an'  den  we  went  to 
de  house,  jest  as  some  o'  de  folks  run  in  an'  tell  'em 
we  wuz  come.  When  Marse  George  stept  in  de 
hall,  dee  all  clustered  roun'  him  like  dee  gwine  hug 
him,  dee  faces  fyah  dimplin'  wid  pleasure,  an'  Miss 
Peggy  she  jes  reched  up  an'  teck  him  in  her  arms 
an'  hug  him. 

"  Dee  tell  me  in  de  kitchen  dat  dee  wuz  been 
'spectin'  of  Miss  Charlotte  over  to  spend  Christmas 
too,  but  de  river  wuz  so  high  dee  s'pose  dee  couldn' 
git  'cross.  Chile,  dat  sutney  disapp'int  me ! 

"  Well,  after  supper  de  niggers  had  a  dance.  Hit 
wuz  down  in  de  wash-house,  an'  de  table  wuz  set  in 
de  carpenter  shop  jes'  by.  Oh,  hit  sutney  wuz  beauti- 
ful !  Miss  Lucy  an'  Miss  Ailsy  dee  had  superintend 
ev'ything  wid  dee  own  hands.  So  dee  wuz  down 
dyah  wid  dee  ap'ons  up  to  dee  chins,  an'  dee  had  de 
big  silver  strandeliers  out  de  house,  two  on  each 
table,  an'  some  o'  ole  mistis's  best  damas'  table- 
clothes,  an'  ole  marster's  gret  bowl  full  o'  egg-nog; 
hit  look  big  as  a  mill-pond  settin'  dyah  in  de  cornder ; 
an'  dee  had  flowers  out  de  greenhouse  on  de  table, 
an'  some  o'  de  chany  out  de  gret  house,  an'  de  dinin'- 
room  cheers  set  roun'  de  room.  Oh !  oh !  nuttin 
warn  too  good  for  niggers  dem  times;  an'  de  little 
niggers  wuz  runnin'  roun'  right  'stracted,  squealin'  an' 
peepin'  an'  gittin  in  de  way  onder  you  foots ;  an'  de 


68  In  Ole  Virginia. 

mens  dee  wuz  totin'  in  de  wood — gret  hickory  logs, 
look  like  stock  whar  you  gwine  saw — an*  de  fire  so 
big  hit  look  like  you  gwine  kill  hawgs,  'cause  hit  sut- 
ney  wuz  cold  dat  night..  Dis  nigger  ain'  nuver 
gwine  forgit  it  !  Jack  Forester  he  had  come  'cross 
de  river  to  lead  de  fiddlers,  an'  he  say  he  had  to  put 
he  fiddle  onder  he  coat  an'  poke  he  bow  in  he 
breeches  leg  to  keep  de  strings  from  poppin',  an'  dat 
de  river  would  freeze  over  sho  ef  twarn  so  high  ;  but 
twuz  jes  snortin',  an'  he  had  hard  wuck  to  git  over 
in  he  skiff,  an'  Unc'  Jeems  say  he  ain'  gwine  come 
out  he  boat-house  no  mo'  dat  night — he  done  tempt 
Providence  often  'nough  dat  day. 

"  Den  ev'ything  wuz  ready,  an'  de  fiddlers  got  dee 
dram  an'  chuned  up,  an'  twuz  lively,  I  tell  you ! 
Twuz  jes  as  thick  in  dyah  as  blackberries  on  de 
blackberry  bush,  'cause  ev'y  gal  on  de  plantation 
wuz  dyah  shakin'  her  foot  for  some  young  buck,  an' 
back-steppin'  for  to  go  'long.  Dem  ole  sleepers  wuz 
jes  a-rockin',  an'  Jack  Forester  he  wuz  callin'  de 
riggers  for  to  wake  'em  up.  I  warn'  dancin',  'cause  I 
done  got  'ligion  an'  longst  to  de  chutch  since  de 
trouble  done  tetch  us  up  so  rank  ;  but  I  tell  you 
my  foots  wuz  pintedly  eechchin  for  a  leetle  sop  on 
it,  an'  I  had  to  come  out  to  keep  from  crossin'  'em 
onst,  anyways.  Den,  too,  I  had  a  tetch  o'  misery 
in  my  back,  an'  I  lay  off  to  git  a  tas'e  o'  dat  egg-nog 
out  dat  big  bowl,  wid  snow-drift  on  it,  from  Miss 
Lucy — she  al'ays  mighty  fond  o'  Marse  George ;  so 


"  Unc   Edinburgh  Drowndirf  "  69 

I  slip  into  de  carpenter  shop,  an'  ax  her  kyarn  I  do 
nuttin  for  her,  an'  she  laugh  an'  say,  yes,  I  kin  drink 
her  health,  an'  gi'  me  a  gret  gobletful,  an'  jes  den  de 
white  folks  come  in  to  'spec'  de  tables,  Marse  George 
in  de  lead,  an'  dee  all  fill  up  dee  glasses  an'  pledge 
dee  health,  an'  all  de  servants',  an'  a  merry  Christ- 
mas ;  an'  den  dee  went  in  de  wash-house  to  see  de 
dancin',  an'  maybe  to  teck  a  hand  deeself,  'cause 
white  folks'  'ligion  ain'  like  niggers',  you  know  ;  dee 
got  so  much  larnin  dee  kin  dance,  an'  fool  de  devil 
too.  An'  I  stay  roun'  a  little  while,  an'  den  went  in 
de  kitchen  to  see  how  supper  gittin  on,  'cause  I  wuz 
so  hongry  when  I  got  dyah  I  ain'  able  to  eat  'nough 
at  one  time  to  'commodate  it,  an'  de  smell  o'  de  tuc- 
keys  an'  de  gret  saddlers  o'  mutton  in  de  tin-kit- 
chens wuz  mos'  'nough  by  deeself  to  feed  a  right 
hongry  man  ;  an'  dyah  wuz  a  whole  parcel  o'  niggers 
cookin'  an'  tunnin  'bout  for  life,  an'  dee  faces  jes  as 
shiny  as  ef  dee  done  bas'e  'em  wid  gravy ;  an'  dyah, 
settin'  back  in  a  cheer  out  de  way,  wid  her  clean 
frock  up  off  de  flo',  wuz  dat  gal !  I  sutney  did  feel 
curious. 

"I  say,  'Hi!  name  o'  Gord !  whar'd  you  come 
from  ?  '  She  say, '  Oh,  Marster !  ef  heah  ain'  dat  free 
nigger  agin  ! '  An'  ev'ybody  laughed. 

"  Well,  presny  we  come  out,  cause  Nancy  warn  see 
de  dancin',  an'  we  stop  a  leetle  while  'hind  de  cornder 
out  de  wind  while  she  tell  me  'bout  ev'ything.  An' 
she  say  dat's  all  a  lie  she  tell  me  dat  day  'bout  Mr. 


7O  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Darker  an'  Miss  Charlotte ;  an'  he  done  gone  'way 
now  for  good  'cause  he  so  low  down  an'  wuthless  dee 
kyarn  nobody  stand  him  ;  an'  all  he  warn  marry  Miss 
Charlotte  for  is  to  git  her  niggers.  But  Nancy  say 
Miss  Charlotte  nuver  could  abide  him  ;  he  so  'sateful, 
'spressly  sence  she  fine  out  what  a  lie  he  told  'bout 
Marse  George.  You  know,  Mr.  Darker  he  done  meek 
'em  think  Marse  George  sont  me  dyah  to  fine  out  ef 
he  done  come  home,  an'  den  dat  he  fall  on  him  wid 
heweepinwhen  he  ain'  noticin'  him,  an*  sort  o'  out 
de  way  too,  an'  git  two  urr  mens  to  hold  him  while 
he  beat  him,  all  'cause  he  in  love  wid  Miss  Charlotte. 
D'you  ever,  ever  heah  sich  a  lie?  An'  Nancy  say, 
do'  Miss  Charlotte  ain'  b'lieve  it  all  togerr,  hit  look 
so  reasonable  she  done  le'  de  ole  jedge  an'  her  ma, 
who  wuz  'pending  on  what  she  heah,  'duce  her  to 
send  back  he  things  ;  an'  dee  ain'  know  no  better  not 
tell  after  de  ole  jedge  die ;  den  dee  fine  out  'bout  de 
whuppin  me,  an'  all;  an'  den  Miss  Charlotte  know 
huccome  I  ain'  gwine  stay  dat  day;  an'  she  say  dee 
wuz  sutney  outdone  'bout  it,  but  it  too  late  den;  an* 
Miss  Charlotte  kyarn  do  nuttin  but  cry  'bout  it,  an* 
dat  she  did,  pintedly,  'cause  she  done  lost  Marse 
George,  an'  done  'stroy  he  life ;  an'  she  nuver  keer 
'bout  nobody  else  sep  Marse  George,  Nancy  say. 
Mr.  Clarke  he  hangin'  on,  but  Miss  Charlotte  she 
done  tell  him  pintedly  she  ain'  nuver  gwine  marry 
nobody.  An'  dee  jes  done  come,  she  say,  'cause  dee 
had  to  go  'way  round  by  de  rope  ferry  'long  o'  de 


"  Unc    Edinburg' s  Drowndin"  71 

river  bein'  so  high,  an'  dee  ain'  know  tell  dee  done 
git  out  de  ker'idge  an'  in  de  house  dat  we  all  wuz 
heah ;  an'  Nancy  say  she  glad  dee  ain',  'cause  she 
'feared  ef  dee  had,  Miss  Charlotte  wouldn'  'a  come. 

"  Den  I  tell  her  all  'bout  Marse  George,  cause  I  know 
she  'bleeged  to  tell  Miss  Charlotte.  Twuz  powerful 
cold  out  dyah,  but  I  ain'  mine  dat,  chile.  Nancy  she 
done  had  to  wrop  her  arms  up  in  her  ap'on  an'  she 
kyarn  meek  no  zistance  'tall,  an'  dis  nigger  ain'  keer- 
in  nuttin  'bout  cold  den. 

"  An'  jes  den  two  ladies  come  out  de  carpenter 
shop  an'  went  'long  to  de  wash-house,  an'  Nancy  say, 
'  Dyah  Miss  Charlotte  now ; '  an'  twuz  Miss  Lucy 
an'  Miss  Charlotte  ;  an'  we  heah  Miss*  Lucy  coaxin' 
Miss  Charlotte  to  go,  tellin'  her  she  kin  come  right 
out ;  an'  jes  den  dee  wuz  a  gret  shout,  an'  we  went 
in  hinst  'em.  Twuz  Marse  George  had  done  teck 
de  fiddle,  an'  ef  he  warn'  natchelly  layin'  hit  down ! 
he  wuz  up  at  de  urr  een  o'  de  room,  'way  from  we 
all,  'cause  we  wuz  at  de  do',  nigh  Miss  Charlotte 
whar  she  wuz  standin'  'hind  some  on  'em,  wid  her 
eyes  on  him  mighty  timid,  like  she  hidin'  from  him, 
an'  ev'y  nigger  in  de  room  wuz  on  dat  flo'.  Gord  ! 
suh,  dee  wuz  grinnin'  so  dee  warn'  a  toof*  in  dat 
room  you  couldn'  git  you  tweezers  on ;  an'  you 
couldn'  heah  a  wud,  dee  so  proud  o'  Marse  George 
playin'  for  'em. 

"Well,  dee  danced  tell  you  couldn' tell  which  wuz 
de  clappers  an'  which  de  back-steppers;  de  whole 


72  In  Ole  Virginia. 

house  look  like  it  wuz  rockin' ;  an'  presney  some- 
body say  supper,  an*  dat  stop  'em,  an'  dee  wuz  a 
spell  for  a  minute,  an'  Marse  George  standin'  dyah 
wid  de  fiddle  in  he  hand.  He  face  wuz  tunned 
away,  an'  he  wuz  studyin' — studyin'  'bout  dat  urr 
Christmas  so  long  ago — an'  sudney  he  face  drapt 
down  on  de  fiddle,  an'  he  drawed  he  bow  'cross  de 
strings,  an'  dat  chune  begin  to  whisper  right  sorf. 
Hit  begin  so  low  ev'ybody  had  to  stop  talkin'  an* 
hold  dee  mouf  to  heah  it ;  an'  Marse  George  he  ainf 
know  nuttin  'bout  it,  he  done  gone  back,  an'  standin' 
dyah  in  de  gret  hall  playin'  it  for  Miss  Charlotte, 
whar  done  come  down  de  steps  wid  her  little  blue 
foots  an'  gret  fan,  an'  standin'  dyah  in  her  dim  blue 
dress  an'  her  fyah  arms,  an'  her  gret  eyes  lookin'  in 
he  face  so  earnest,  whar  he  ain'  gwine  nuver  speak 
to  no  mo'.  I  see  it  by  de  way  he  look — an'  de  fiddle 
wuz  jes  pleadin'.  He  drawed  it  out  jes  as  fine  as  a 
stran'  o'  Miss  Charlotte's  hyah. 

"  Hit  so  sweet,  Miss  Charlotte,  mun,  she  couldn' 
stan'  it ;  she  made  to  de  do' ;  an'  jes  while  she 
watchin'  Marse  George  to  keep  him  from  seein'  her 
he  look  dat  way,  an'  he  eyes  fall  right  into  hern. 

"  Well,  suh,  de  fiddle  drapt  down  on  de  flo' — per- 
lang ! — an'  he  face  wuz  white  as  a  sycamore  limb. 

"  Dee  say  twuz  a  swimmin'  in  de  head  he  had  ;  an' 
Jack  say  de  whole  fiddle  warn'  wuff  de  five  dollars. 

"Me  an'  Nancy  followed  'em  tell  dee  went  in  de 
house,  an'  den  we  come  back  to  de  shop  whar  de 


"  Unc   Edinburgh  Drowndin '."  73 

supper  wuz  gwine  on,  an'  got  we  all  supper  an*  a 
leetle  sop  o'  dat  yaller  gravy  out  dat  big  bowl,  an' 
den  we  all  rejourned  to  de  wash-house  agin,  an'  got 
onder  de  big  bush  o'  misseltow  whar  hangin'  from 
de  jice,  an'  ef  you  ever  see  scufflin'  dat's  de  time. 

"  Well,  me  an'  she  had  jes  done  lay  off  de  whole 
Christmas,  when  wud  come  dat  Marse  George  want 
he  horses. 

"  I  went,  but  it  sutney  breck  me  up  ;  an'  I  wonder 
whar  de  name  o'  Gord  Marse  George  gwine  sen'  me 
dat  cold  night,  an'  jes  as  I  got  to  de  do'  Marse 
George  an'  Mr.  Braxton  come  out,  an'  I  know  to- 
rectly  Marse  George  wuz  gwine  home.  I  seen  he 
face  by  de  light  o'  de  lantern,  an*  twuz  set  jes  rigid 
as  a  rock. 

"  Mr.  Braxton  he  wuz  beggin'  him  to  stay ;  he  tell 
him  he  ruinin'  he  life,  dat  he  sho  dee's  some  mistake, 
an'  twill  be  all  right.  An'  all  de  answer  Marse  George 
meek  wuz  to  swing  heself  up  in  de  saddle,  an'  Revel- 
ler he  look  like  he  gwine  fyah  'stracted.  He  al'ays 
mighty  fool  anyways  when  he  git  cold,  dat  horse  wuz. 

"  Well,  we  come  'long  'way,  an'  Mr.  Braxton  an' 
two  mens  come  down  to  de  river  wid  lanterns  to  see 
us  cross,  'cause  twuz  dark  as  pitch,  sho  'nough. 

"An'  jes  'fo'  I  started  I  got  one  o'  de  mens  to  hoi' 
my  horses,  an'  I  went  in  de  kitchen  to  git  warm,  an' 
dyah  Nancy  wuz.  An'  she  say  Miss  Charlotte  up- 
steairs  cryin'  right  now,  'cause  she  think  Marse 
George  gwine  cross  de  river  'count  o'  her,  an'  she 


74  In  Ole  Virginia. 

whimper  a  little  herself  when  I  tell  her  good-by. 
But  twuz  too  late  den. 

"  Well,  de  river  wuz  jes  natchelly  b'ilin',  an'  hit 
soun'  like  a  mill-dam  roarin'  by  ;  an'  when  we  got 
dyah  Marse  George  tunned  to  me  an'  tell  me  he 
reckon  I  better  go  back.  I  ax  him  whar  he  gwine, 
an'  he  say, '  Home.'  '  Den  I  gwine  wid  you,'  I  says. 
I  wuz  mighty  skeered,  but  me  an'  Marse  George  wuz 
boys  togerr ;  an'  he  plunged  right  in,  an'  I  after  him. 

"  Gord  !  twuz  cold  as  ice  ;  an*  we  hadn'  got  in  befo' 
bofe  horses  wuz  swimmin'  for  life.  He  holler  to  me 
to  byah  de  myah  head  up  de  stream ;  an'  I  did  try, 
but  what's  a  nigger  to  dat  water !  Hit  jes  pick  me 
up  an'  dash  me  down  like  I  ain'  no  mo'n  a  chip,  an* 
de  fust  thing  I  know  I  gwine  down  de  stream  like  a 
piece  of  bark,  an'  water  washin'  all  over  me.  I 
knowed  den  I  gone,  an'  I  hollered  for  Marse  George 
for  help.  I  heah  him  answer  me  not  to  git  skeered, 
but  to  hold  on  ;  but  de  myah  wuz  lungin'  an'  de 
water  wuz  all  over  me  like  ice,  an'  den  I  washed  off 
de  myah  back,  an'  got  drownded. 

"I  'member  comin'  up  an'  hollerin'  agin  for  help, 
but  I  know  den  'tain'  no  use,  dee  ain'  no  help  den, 
an'  I  got  to  pray  to  Gord,  an'  den  some'n  hit  me  an* 
I  went  down  agin,  an' — de  next  thing  I  know  I  wuz 
in  de  bed,  an'  I  heah  'em  talkin'  'bout  wherr  I  dead 
or  not,  an'  I  ain'  know  myself  tell  I  taste  de  whiskey 
dee  po'rin'  down  my  jugular. 

"  An'  den  dee  tell  me  'bout  how  when  I  hollered 


"  Unc'  Edinburgh  Drowndin"  75 

Marse  George  tun  back  an'  struck  out  for  me  for 
life,  an'  how  jes  as  I  went  down  de  last  time  he 
cotch  me  an'  helt  on  to  me  tell  we  wash  down  to 
whar  de  bank  curve,  an'  dyah  de  current  wuz  so 
rapid  hit  yuck  him  off  Reveller  back,  but  he  helt  on 
to  de  reins  tell  de  horse  lunge  so  he  hit  him  wid  he 
fo'  foot  an'  breck  he  collar-bone,  an'  den  he  had  to 
let  him  go,  an'  jes  helt  on  to  me ;  an'  jes  den  we 
wash  up  agin  de  bank  an'  cotch  in  a  tree,  an'  de 
mens  got  dyah  quick  as  dee  could,  an'  when  dee 
retched  us  Marse  George  wuz  holdin'  on  to  me,  an* 
had  he  arm  wropped  roun'  a  limb,  an'  we  wuz  lodged 
in  de  crotch,  an'  bofe  jes  as  dead  as  a  nail :  an'  de 
myah  she  got  out,  but  Reveller  he  wuz  drownded, 
wid  his  foot  cotch  in  de  rein  an'  de  saddle  tunned 
onder  he  side ;  an'  dee  ain'  know  wherr  Marse 
George  ain'  dead  too,  'cause  he  not  only  drownded, 
but  he  lef '  arm  broke  up  nigh  de  shoulder. 

"  An'  dee  say  Miss  Charlotte  she  'mos'  'stracted ; 
dat  de  fust  thing  anybody  know  'bout  it  wuz  when 
some  de  servants  bust  in  de  hall  an'  holler,  an'  say 
Marse  George  an'  me  done  bofe  washed  'way  an' 
drownded,  an'  dat  she  drapt  down  dead  on  de  flo', 
an'  when  dee  bring  her  to  she  'low  to  Miss  Lucy  dat 
she  de  'casion  on  he  death;  an*  dee  say  dat  when  de 
mens  wuz  totin'  him  in  de  house,  an'  wuz  shufflm' 
de  feets  not  to  meek  no  noige,  an'  a  little  piece  o' 
blue  silk  drapt  out  he  breast  whar  somebody  picked 
up  an'  gin  Miss  Lucy,  Miss  Charlotte  breck  right 


76  In  Ole  Virginia. 

down  agin  ;  an'  some  on  'em  say  she  sutney  did  keer 
for  him  ;  an'  now  when  he  lay  in'  upstairs  dyah  dead, 
hit  too  late  for  him  ever  to  know  it. 

"  Well,  suh,  I  couldn'  teck  it  in  dat  Marse  George 
and  Reveller  wuz  dead,  an'  jes  den  somebody  say 
Marse  George  done  comin'  to  an*  dee  gi'  me  so 
much  whiskey  I  went  to  sleep. 

"  An'  next  mornin'  I  got  up  an'  went  to  Marse 
George  room,  an'  see  him  layin'  dyah  in  de  bed,  wid 
he  face  so  white  an'  he  eyes  so  tired-lookin',  an'  he 
ain'  know  me  no  mo'  'n  ef  he  nuver  see  me,  an'  I 
couldn'  stan'  it ;  I  jes  drap  down  on  de  flo'  an'  bust 
out  cryin'.  Gord  !  suh,  I  couldn'  help  it,  'cause 
Reveller  wuz  drownded,  an'  Marse  George  he  wuz 
mos'  gone. 

*'  An'  he  came  nigher  goin'  yit,  'cause  he  had  sich 
a  strain,  an'  been  so  long  in  de  water,  he  heart  done 
got  numbed,  an'  he  got  'lirium,  an*  all  de  time  he 
thought  he  tryin'  to  git  'cross  de  river  to  see  Miss 
Charlotte,  an'  hit  so  high  he  kyarn  git  dyah. 

"  Hit  sutney  wuz  pitiful  to  see  him  layin'  dyah 
tossin'  an'  pitchin',  not  knowin*  whar  he  wuz,  tell 
it  teck  all  Mr.  Braxton  an'  me  could  do  to  keep 
him  in  de  bed,  an'  de  doctors  say  he  kyarn  hoi'  out 
much  longer. 

"  An'  all  dis  time  Miss  Charlotte  she  wuz  gwine 
'bout  de  house  wid  her  face  right  white,  an'  Nancy 
say  she  don'  do  nuttin  all  day  long  in  her  room  but 
cry  an'  say  h.er  pra'rs,  prayin'  for  Marse  George,  whar 


"  Unc   Edinburgh  Drowndiri  "  77 

dyin'  upsteairs  by  'count  o'  not  knowin'  she  love  him, 
an'  I  tell  .Nancy  how  he  honin'  all  de  time  to  see  her, 
an'  how  he  constant  callin'  her  name. 

"Well,  so  twuz,  tell  he  mos'  done  wyah  heself  out ; 
an'  jes  lay  dyah  wid  his  face  white  as  de  pillow,  an' 
he  gret  pitiful  eyes  rollin'  'bout  so  restless,  like  he 
still  lookin'  for  her  whar  he  all  de  time  callin'  her 
name,  an'  kyarn  git  'cross  dat  river  to  see. 

"  An'  one  evenin  'bout  sunset  he  'peared  to  be 
gwine ;  he  weaker  'n  he  been  at  all,  he  ain'  able  to 
scuffle  no  mo',  an'  jes  layin'  dyah  so  quiet,  an' 
presney  he  say,  lookin'  mighty  wistful, 

"  '  Edinburg,  I'm  goin'  to-night ;  ef  I  don'  git  'cross 
dis  time,  I'll  gin't  up.' 

"  Mr.  Braxton  wuz  standin'  nigh  de  head  o'  de 
bed,  an'  he  say,  '  Well,  by  Gord  !  he  shall  see  her  ! ' 
— jes  so.  An'  he  went  out  de  room,  an'  to  Miss 
Charlotte  do',  an'  call  her,  an'  tell  her  she  got  to 
come,  ef  she  don't,  he'll  die  dat  night ;  an'  fust  thing 
I  know,  Miss  Lucy  bring  Miss  Charlotte  in,  wid  her 
face  right  white,  but  jes  as  tender  as  a  angel's,  an* 
she  come  an'  stan'  by  de  side  de  bed,  an'  lean  down 
over  him,  an'  call  he  name, '  George  ! ' — jes  so. 

"  An'  Marse  George  he  ain'  answer ;  he  jes  look 
at  her  study  for  a  minute,  an'  den  he  forehead 
got  smooth,  an'  he  tun  he  eyes  to  me,  an  say, 
'  Edinburg,  I'm  'cross."1 


MEH  LADY  :  A  STORY  OF  THE  WAR. 


dat  Phil  go  'stracted  when  h 

pike  on  de  een  o'  dis  feller!  " 

The  speaker  was  standing  in  the  dogwood  bushes 
just  below  me,  for  I  was  on  the  embankment,  where 
the  little  foot-path  through  the  straggling  pines  and 
underbrush  ran  over  it.  He  was  holding  in  his  hand 
a  newly  peeled  cedar  fishing-pole,  while  a  number 
more  lay  in  the  path  at  the  foot  of  the  old  redoubt. 

I  watched  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  said  : 

"  Hello  !  Uncle,  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Gittin'  fishin'-poles  for  de  boys,  suh,"  he  an- 
swered promptly  and  definitely.  "  We's  'spectin' 
'em  soon."  Then  he  added  confidentially  : 

"  Dee  won'  have  none  from  nowhar  else,  suh  ;  dee 
done  heah  dee  ma  tell  how  Marse  Phil  used  to  git 
poles  right  heah  on  dis  ridge,  an'  dee  oon'  fling  a 
line  wid  nay  urr  sort  o'  poles  at  all.  Dat  Phil  he 
mo'  like  Marse  Phil  'n  he  like  he  pa;  sometimes  I 
think  he  Marse  Phil  done  come  back  —  he's  he  ve'y 
spit  an'  image." 

"  Who  are  the  boys  ?  "  I  asked,  taking  a  seat  on 
the  moss-covered  breastwork. 

"  Hi  !  we  all's  boys  —  Meh  Lady's.     De  fish  run- 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  79 

nin'  good  now,  an'  dee'll  be  heah  toreckly.  Dee  up 
in  New  York  now,  but  me  an'  Hannah  got  a  letter 
from  'em  yistidy.  You  cyarn'  keep  'em  dyah  long 
after  de  fish  'gins  to  run  ;  no  suh,  dat  you  cyarn'. 
Dat  Phil,  I  boun'  studyin'  'bout  his  pole  right  now." 
And  a  short  laugh  of  delight  followed  the  reflection. 

"  How  many  are  there?  " 

"  Fo'  on  'em,  suh,  wid  de  little  gal,  an'  she  jes' 
like  Meh  Lady  wuz  at  her  age,  tryin'  to  keep  up  wid 
her  brurrs,  an'  do  ev'ything  dee  do.  Lord  !  suh,  hit 
cyars  me  back  so  sometimes,  I  mos'  furgit  de  am' 
nuver  been  no  war  nor  nuttin'.  Yes,  suh,  dee  tu'ns 
de  house  upside  down  when  dee  comes,  jes'  like 
Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady.  Um — m  !  [making  that 
peculiar  sound  so  indescribably  suggestive],  dee  used 
to  jes'  teoh  de  wull  to  pieces.  You  see,  after  Marse 
Jeems  die'  an'  lef  Mistis  heah  wid  jes'  dem  two,  she 
used  to  gi'  'em  dee  head,  an'  dee  all  over  de  planta- 
tion. Meh  Lady  (de  little  white  mistis).  in  her  little 
white  apron  wid  her  curls  all  down  in  her  eyes,  used 
to  look  white  'mong  dem  urr  chil'ns  as  a  clump 
o'  blackberry  blossoms  'mong  de  blackberries.  I 
don'  keer  what  Hannah  do  wid  dat  hyah  it  wouldn* 
lay  smoove.  An'  her  eyes  !  I  do  b'lieve  she  laugh 
mo'  wid  'em  'n  wid  her  mouf.  She  wuz  de  'light  o' 
dis  plantation  !  When  she'd  come  in  you'  house 
'twuz  like  you'd  shove  back  de  winder  an'  let  piece 
o'  de  sun  in  on  de  flo' — you  could  almos'  see  by  her  ! 
An'  Marse  Phil,  he  used  to  wyah  her !  I  don'  keer 


8o  In  Ole  Virginia. 

whar  you  see  one,  dyah  turr,  she  lookin'  up  at  him, 
pushin'  her  hyah  back  out  her  big  brown  eyes,  an* 
tryin'  to  do  jes'  what  he  do.  When  Marse  Phil  went 
byah-footed,  she  had  to  go  byah-footed  too,  an'  she'd 
foller  him  down  to  de  mill-pond  th'oo  briers  an' 
ev'ywhar,  wid  her  little  white  foots  scratchin'  an' 
gittin'  briers  in  'em  ;  but  she  ain'  mine  dat  so  he 
ain'  lef  her.  Dat's  de  way  'twuz,  spang  tell  Marse 
Phil  went  to  college,  or  you  jes'  as  well  say,  tell  he 
went  in  de  army,  cause  he  home  ev'y  Christmas  an* 
holiday  all  de  time  he  at  de  univusity,  an'  al'ays  got 
somebody  or  nurr  wid  him.  You  cyarn'  keep  bees 
'way  after  dee  fine  de  honeysuckle  bush,  an'  dem 
young  bucks  dee  used  to  be  roun'  her  constant.  Hit 
look  like  ef  she  drap  her  hankcher  hit  teck  all  on 
em'  to  pick  't  up.  Dee  so  perseverin'  (Mr.  Watkins 
spressly),  I  tell  Hannah  I  specks  one  on  'em  gwine 
be  Mistis'  son-in-law  ;  but  Hannah  say  de  chile  jes' 
'joyin'  herself  an'  projeckin'  wid  'em,  an'  ain'  love 
none  on  'em  hard  as  Marse  Phil.  An'  so  'twuz ! 
Hannah  know.  Her  cap'n  ain'  come  yit !  When  dee 
cap'n  come  dee  know  it,  an'  ef  dee  don'  know  it 
when  he  come,  dee  know  it  p'intedly  when  he  go 
'way. 

"  We  wuz  rich  den,  quarters  on  ev'y  hill,  an'  nig- 
gers mo'  'n  you  could  tell  dee  names  ;  dee  used  to 
be  thirty  cradlers  in  de  harves'-fiel'  an'  binders  mo' 
'n  you  kin  count. 

"  Den  Marse  Phil  went  in  de  war.     You  wuz  too 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  8 1 

young  to  know  'bout  dat,  marster?  Say  you  wuz  ? 
Dat's  so  !  "  (This  in  ready  acquiescence  to  my  reply 
that  every  Southerner  knew  of  the  war.)  "  Well, 
hit  'peared  like  when  it  start  de  ladies  wuz  ambi- 
tiouser  for  it  mos'  'n  de  mens.  Um  !  dee  wuz  rank, 
sho'  'nough.  At  fust  dee  didn'  know  what  'twuz, 
hit  come  so  sudden.  One  mornin'  I  was  standin' 
right  by  de  po'ch,  an'  Marse  Phil  ride  up  in  de  yard. 
I  see  him  time  he  tunned  de  curve  o'  de  avenue  ;  I 
know  he  seat,  'cause  I  larn  him  to  ride  ;  dese  hands 
set  him  up  on  de  horse  fust  time  he  ever  tetch  de 
saddle,  when  he  little  fat  legs  couldn'  retch  to  de 
little  skeurts.  Well,  I  call  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady,  an' 
dee  come  out  jes'  as  he  gallop  up  in  de  yard.  He 
speak  to  me,  an'  run  up  de  gre't  steps,  an'  Mistis 
teck  him  right  in  her  arms,  an'  belt  him  farst,  an' 
when  she  le'  him  go  her  face  look  mighty  cu'yus  ; 
an'  when  dee  went  into  de  house  I  notice  Marse 
Phil  taller'n  he  wuz  at  Christmas,  an'  he  han'  'em  in 
stately  like  he  pa. 

"  'Twuz  he  done  come  home  to  go  in  de  army,  an' 
he  done  stop  in  Richmon'  to  git  he  permission, 
'cause  he  feared  he  ma  oon'  let  him  go  bedout  it ; 
an'  he  say,  Mr.  Watkins  an'  heap  o'  de  boys  done 
lef  an'  gone  home  to  raise  companies.  Mistis — 
Hannah  say — grieve  might'ly  when  tain'  nobody  see 
her,  an'  she  got  her  do'  locked  heap,  sayin'  her  prars 
for  him  ;  but  she  ain'  say  a  wud  'bout  he  goin',  she 

nor  Meh  Lady  nurr — dee  jes'  dat  ambitious  'bout  it. 
6 


82  In  Ole  Virginia. 

De  thorybreds  goes  wid  dee  heads  up  till  dee  drap, 
you  know. 

"  After  dat  you  ain'  see  nuttin'  but  gittin  ready ; 
cuttin'  an'  sewin',  an'  meckin'  tents,  an'  band- 
ages, an'  uniforms,  an'  lint — 'twuz  wuss'n  when 
dee  meckin'  up  de  folks'  winter  clo'es !  an'  when 
Marse  Phil  fetch  he  s'o'de  home  an'  put  on  he  boots 
an'  spurs  whar  I  done  black,  an*  git  he  seat  on  Pala- 
din, twarn'  nay  han'  on  de  place  but  what  say  Marse 
Phil  'bleeged  to  whup  'em  ef  dee  come  close  enough. 
Well,  so  he  went  off  to  de  war,  an'  Left-hand  Torm 
went  wid  him  to  wait  on  him  an'  ten'  to  de  horses, 
and  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  ain'  had  time  to  cry  tell  dee 
rid  roun'  de  curve,  an'  Marse  Phil  tu'n  an'  wave  he 
hat  to  'em  stan'in  dyah  on  de  po'ch  ;  an'  den  Mistis 
tu'n  roun'  an'  walk  in  de  house  right  quick  wid  her 
mouf  wuckin',  an'  lock  herse'f  in  her  chamber,  an' 
Meh  Lady  set  down  on  de  steps  an'  cry  by  herse'f. 

"  Dat  wuz  de  een  o'  de  ole  times,  an'  dem  whar 
ain'  nuver  had  dee  foots  to  git  'quainted  wid  de 
ground  wuz  stomped  down  in  de  dut. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  suh,  he  come  back,"  said  he  presently, 
in  answer  to  a  question  from  me,  "  but  de  war  had 
been  gwine  on  for  mo'  'n  a  year  befo'  he  did.  Heaps 
o'  urr  soldiers  used  to  come  ;  dee'd  kiver  up  de  gre't 
road  an'  de  plantation  sometimes,  an'  eat  up  ev'y- 
thing  on  de  place.  But  Marse  Phil  he  ain'  nuver  git 
home  ;  he  'bleeged  to  stay  to  keep  de  Yankeys  back  ; 
he  wid  Gener'l  Jackson,  an'  he  fightin'  all  de  time ; 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  83 

he  git  two  or  th'ee  balls  th'oo  he  clo'es  an'  he  cap — he 
write  we  all  'bout  it ;  two  bring  de  blood,  but  not 
much,  he  say,  dee  jes'  sort  o'  bark  him.  Oh  !  dee 
wuz  jes'  p'intedly  notifyin'  him  ;  ev'y  chance  dee'd 
git  dee'd  plump  at  him  same  as  when  you'd 
plump  at  de  middle  man.  But  dat  ain'  pester  him, 
chile  ! 

"  But  one  mornin'  when  we  ain'  heah  from  him  in 
long  time  an'  think  he  up  in  de  valley,  Marse  Phil 
ride  right  up  in  de  yard,  an'  Mistis'  face  light  up  to 
see  him  tell  she  look  mos'  like  a  young  ooman.  He 
say  he  ain'  got  long  to  stay,  dat  de  army  gwine 
down  de  big  road  an'  he  'bleeged  to  git  right  back 
to  he  bat'ry — he  jes'  ride  'cross  to  see  he  ma  an'  Meh 
Lady  an'  all  on  us,  he  say,  an'  he  mighty  hongry, 
'cause  he  ain'  had  nuttin'  to  eat  sence  early  de 
day  befo',  an'  he  want  me  to  feed  Paladin  at  de  rack  ; 
an'  Meh  Lady,  chile  !  she  lef  him  walkin'  'bout  in 
de  house  wid  he  ma,  wid  he  arm  roun'  her,  an' 
twis'in'  he  mustache,  whar  showin'  leetle  sence  he 
sich  a  man,  an'  axin'  he  ma  don't  she  think  it  a  fine 
mustache,  dat  all  de  girls  say'  tis,  an'  axin'  'bout 
ev'ybody  ;  an'  she  come  out  an'  'tend  to  gittin'  him 
some'n'  to  eat  wid  her  own  hands,  an'  he  sut'n'y  did 
eat  hearty  ;  an'  den  he  come  'way,  an'  he  stoop  down 
an'  kiss  he  ma  an'  Meh  Lady,  an'  tell  'em  he  gwine 
to  be  a  cun'l  one  dese  days ;  an'  Mistis  she  ain'  able 
to  say  nuttin',  but  jes'  look  at  him  wistful  as  he 
went  down  de  steps,  den  she  run  down  after  him  an* 


84  In  Ole  Virginia. 

ketch  him  after  he  git  on  de  groun'  an'  kiss  him  an* 
breck  out  cryin'  ;  she  say  she  ain'  begrudge  him,  but 
she  love  him  so  much.  He  kiss  her  mighty  sorf 
two  or  th'ee  times,  an'  den  she  let  him  go,  an'  he 
come  an  git  on  he  horse  an'  rid  'way  at  a  gallop  out 
de  back  gate  wid  he  cap  on  de  side  he  head,  an* 
dee  went  in  de  house,  an'  dat  horse  warn'  go  up  de 
stable  right  den. 

"  De  nex'  day  we  hear  de  cannons  'way  down  de 
country  jes'  like  thunder  right  study,  an'  Mistis  and 
Meh  Lady  dee  set  on  de  po'ch  an'  listen  to  'em  wid 
dee  face  mighty  solemn  all  day  long.  An'  dat  night 
'bout  de  fust  rooster-crow  Left-hand  Torm  come 
home  on  de  gray,  an'  knock  at  Mistis'  winder,  an' 
say  Marse  Phil  done  shoot  in  de  breast,  an'  he  don't 
know  wherr  he  dead  or  not  ;  he  say  he  warn'  dead 
when  he  come  'way,  but  de  doctor  wuz  wid  him,  an' 
he  had  sent  him  after  he  ma  to  come  to  him  at  once, 
an'  he  had  been  ridin'  hard  all  night  long  ever  sence 
jes'  befo'  sunset  ;  an'  Torm  say  he  bat'ry  wuz  de 
fusf  on  de  groun',  an'  he  post  it  on  de  aidge  o'  de 
woods  in  a  oat-fiel',  jes'  like  cradlers,  you  know,  an' 
he  drive  de  enemy  out  dee  breas'wucks,  an'  he  see 
him  when  he  lead  he  bat'ry  'cross  de  oat-fiel',  he 
guns  all  six  in  a  strainin'  gallop,  an'  he  and  Paladin 
in  de  lead  cheerin',  wid  bullits  an'  shells  hailin'  all 
roun'  him  ;  an'  he  wuz  de  fust  man  in  de  redoubt,  he 
say,  an'  he  fall  jes'  as  he  jump  he  horse  over,  an' 
den  he  lay  dyah  an'  fight  he  guns  tell  he  faint.  An' 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  85 

Torm  say  de  gener'l  say  he'd  ruther  been  Marse 
Phil  fightn'  he  bat'ry  dat  day  den  'a'  been  President 
de  Confederate  States. 

"  Well,  suh,  Mistis  she  had  jump  out  o'  bed  de 
fust  step  o'  Torm  in  de  yard  ;  she  hadn'  even  teck 
off  her  clo'es,  an'  she  jes'  stand  still  like  she  am' 
heah  good,  wid  her  face  lookin'  like  she  done  dead. 
Meh  Lady  she  tell  Torm  to  tell  me  to  git  de  ker- 
ridge  as  soon  as  I  kin,  an'  to  tell  her  mammy  please 
to  come  dyah  quick. 

"  An'  when  day  broke  I  wuz  standin'  at  de  gate 
wid  de  kerridge  ;  done  feed  my  horses  an'  a  good 
bag  o'  clean  oats  in  de  boot.  Mistis  she  come 
out  wid  Meh  Lady  an'  Hannah,  an'  her  face 
sut'n'y  wuz  grievious.  I  ain'  know  tell  I  see  de 
way  she  look  how  it  hu't  her,  but  I  been  see 
dead  folks  look  better'n  she  look  den.  All  she  say 
wuz  : 

"  *  Try  an'  git  me  dyah,  Billy ;  '  an'  I  say, 
'Yes'm,  I'm  gwine  to  ef  Gord'll  le'  me.'  I  did 
git  her  dyah,  too  ;  ef  I  didn'  meek  dem  hofses 
flinder ! 

"  But  dead  mens  !  I  nuver  see  as  many  in  my  life 
as  I  see  dat  evenin'.  Amb'lances  an'  waggins  full 
on  'em,  an  dem  whar  jes'  good  as  dead  ;  de  road 
wuz  chocked  up  wid  'em  !  Dee  all  know  Marse  Phil 
bat'ry ;  dee  say  hit  de  fust  in  de  fight  yistidy  an'  it 
cut  all  to  pieces ;  an'  pres'n'y  a  gent'man  whar  I  ax 
as  he  gallop  past  me  rein  up  he  horse  an'  say  he 


86  In  Ole   Virginia. 

know  him  well,  an*  he  wuz  shot  yistidy  an'  left  on  de 
fiel'  ;  he  done  teck  off  he  cap  when  he  see  Mistis  an* 
Meh  Lady  in  de  kerridge,  an'  he  voice  drapt  mighty 
low,  an'  he  say  Marse  Phil  wuz  shot  'bout  fo'  o'clock 
leadin'  he  bat'ry,  an'  he  did  splendid  wuck. 

"  He  voice  sort  o'  'passionate,  an'  he  face  so 
pitiful  when  he  say  dat,  I  know  'tain'  no  hope 
to  save  him,  an'  ef  I  git  Mistis  dyah  in  time,  dat's 
all. 

"  '  Drive  on  quick,'  says  Mistis,  an'  I  druv  on.  I 
done  meek  up  my  mine  to  git  she  an'  Meh  Lady 
to  Marse  Phil,  whar  I  'sponsible  for  dat  night,  ef 
Gord'll  le'  me.  An'  I  did,  too,  mon !  I  see  de 
soldiers  all  'long  de  road  look  at  me,  an  some  on 
'em  holler  to  me  dat  I  cyarn'  go  dat  way ;  but  I  ain' 
pay  no  'tention  to  'em,  I  jes'  push  on  ;  an'  pres'n'y 
risin'  a  little  ridge  I  see  de  house  de  gent'man  done 
tell  me  'bout,  settin'  in  de  oat-fiel'  'bout  a  half  a  mile 
ahead,  an'  I  jes'  pushin'  for  it,  when  th'ee  or  fo' 
mens  standin'  dyah  in  de  road  'yant  de  ridge,  a  little 
piece  befo'  me,  say  '  Halt.'  I  ain'  pay  no  'tention 
to  'em,  jes'  drive  on  so,  an'  dee  holler  '  Halt '  ag'in ; 
an'  when  I  ain'  stop  den  nuther,  jes'  drive  on  right 
study,  a  spreckle-face  feller  run  up  an'  ketch  Remus' 
head,  an'  anurr  one  done  p'int  he  gun  right  at  me. 
I  say,  '  Whyn'  you  le'  go  de  horse,  mon  !  ain'  you 
got  no  better  sense  'n  to  ketch  holt  Mistis'  horses, 
juckin'  dat  horse'  mouf  dat  way  ?  Le'  go  de  horse' 
head,  don'  you  heah  me  ? ' 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  87 

"  I  clar !  ef  I  warn'  dat  outdone,  I  wuz  jes'  'bout 
to  wrap  my  whip  'roun'  him,  when  Mistis  open  de 
do'  an'  step  out.  She  say  she  wan'  go  on ;  dee  say 
she  cyarn'  do  it ;  den  she  say  she  gwine,  dat  her  son 
dyin'  dyah  in  de  house  an'  she  gwine  to  him.  She 
talk  mighty  sorf  but  mighty  'termined  like.  Dee 
sort  o'  reason  wid  her,  but  she  jes'  walk  on  by  wid 
her  head  up,  an'  tell  me  to  foller  her,  an'  dat  I  did, 
mon !  an'  lef  'em  dyah  in  de  road  holdin'  dee  gun. 
De  whole  army  couldn'  'a'  keep  her  fum  Marse  Phil 
den. 

"  I  got  to  de  house  toreckly  an'  drive  up  nigh  as 
I  could  fur  de  gre't  trenches  'cross  de  yard,  whar 
look  like  folks  been  ditchin'.  A  gent'man  come  to 
de  do',  an'  Mistis  ax,  '  Is  he  'live  yet  ? '  He  say, 
1  Yes,  still  alive  ; '  an'  she  say  *  Where  ? '  an'  went 
right  in  an'  Meh  Lady  wid  her ;  an'  I  heah  say  he 
open  he  eyes  as  she  went  in  an*  sort  o'  smile,  an' 
when  she  kneel  down  an'  kiss  him  he  whisper  he 
ready  to  go  den,  an'  he  wuz  too. 

"  He  went  dat  night  in  he  mother's  arms,  an'  Meh 
Lady  an'  Hannah  at  he  side,  like  I  tole  'em  I 
was  gwine  do  when  I  start  fum  home  dat  mornin', 
an'  he  wuz  jes'  as  peaceful  as  a  baby.  He  tole  he 
ma  when  he  wuz  dyin'  dat  he  had  try  to  do  he 
duty,  an'  dat  'twuz  jes'  like  ole  times,  when  he 
used  to  go  to  sleep  in  her  lap  in  he  own  room, 
wid  her  arms  'roun'  him.  Mistis  sen'  me  fur  a 
amb'lance  dat  night,  an'  we  put  him  in  de  coffin 


88  In  Ole   Virginia. 

next  mornin'  an'  start,  'cause  Mistis  she  gwine  cyar 
Marse  Phil  home  an'  lay  him  in  de  gyardin,  whar  she 
kin  watch  him. 

"  We  travel  all  day  an'  all  night,  an'  retch  home 
'bout  sunrise,  and  den  we  had  to  dig  de  grave. 

"  An'  when  we  got  home  Mistis  she  had  de  coffin 
brought  in,  and  cyared  him  in  he  own  room 
while  we  waitin',  and  she  set  in  dyah  all  day  long 
wid  him,  and  he  look  like  a  boy  sleepin'  dyah  so 
young,  in  he  little  gray  jacket  wid  he  s'o'de  'cross  he 
breas'.  We  bury  him  in  de  gyardin  dat  evenin',  and 
dyar  warn'  'nough  gent'mens  in  de  county  to  be  he 
pall-bearers,  so  de  hands  on  de  place  toted  him,  and 
it  ease'  me  might'ly  to  git  meh  arm  onder  him  right 
good,  like  when  he  wuz  a  little  chap  runnin'  'roun* 
callin'  me  '  Unc'  Billy,'  and  pesterin'  me  to  go  fishin'. 
And  de  gener'l  write  Mistis  a  letter  and  say  de  Con- 
fede'cy  moan  he  loss,  and  he  meek  him  a  cun'l  in  de 
oat-fiel'  de  day  he  wuz  shot,  and  hit's  dat  on  he 
tombstone  now ;  you  kin  go  dyah  in  de  gyardin  an* 
read  it. 

"  And  we  hang  he  s'o'de  on  de  wall  in  he  own 
room  over  de  fireplace,  and  dyah  it  hang  now  for 
to  show  to  de  boys  what  a  soldier  he  wuz. 

"  Well,  after  dat,  things  sut'n'y  went  bad.  De 
house  looked  dat  lonesome  I  couldn'  byah  to  look  at 
it ;  ev'ything  I  see  look'  like  Marse  Phil  jes'  done 
put  it  down,  or  jes'  comin'  after  it.  Mistis  and  Meh 
Lady  dee  wuz  in  deep  mo'nin',  of  co'se,  and  it  look 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  89 

like  de  house  in  mo'nin'  too.  And  Mistis  her  hyah 
got  whiter  and  whiter.  De  on'y  thing  'peared  to  gi' 
her  any  peace  o'  mine  wuz  settin'  in  Marse  Phil' 
room.  She  used  to  set  dyah  all  day,  sewin'  for  de 
soldiers.  She  ain'  nuver  let  nobody  tetch  dat  room  ; 
hit  al'ays  sort  o'  secret  to  her  after  dat.  And  Meh 
Lady  she  took  holt  de  plantation,  an'  ole  Billy  wuz 
her  head  man. 

"  Dat's  de  way  'twuz  for  two  years  tell  mos'  in  de 
summer.  Den — 

"  Hit  happen  one  day.  I  wuz  jes'  come  out  meh 
house  after  dinner,  gwine  to  de  stable.  I  warn' 
studyin'  'bout  Yankeys,  I  wuz  jes'  studyin'  'bout 
how  peaceable  ev'ything  wuz,  when  I  heah  some- 
body hollerin',  and  heah  come  two  womens  'cross  de 
hill  from  de  quarters,  hard  as  dee  could  tyah,  wid  dee 
frocks  jes'  flying.  One  o'  de  maids  in  de  yard  de  first 
to  ketch  de  wud,  and  she  say,  '  De  Yankeys  ! '  And 
'fo'  Gord  !  de  wuds  warn'  out  her  mouf  befo'  de 
whole  top  o'  de  hill  wuz  black  wid  'em.  Yo'  could 
see  'em  gallopin'  and  heah  de  s'o'des  rattlin'  spang 
at  de  house.  Meh  heart  jump  right  up  in  meh  mouf. 
But  I  step  back  in  meh  house  and  got  meh  axe. 
And  when  I  come  out,  de  black  folks  wuz  all  run  out 
dee  houses  in  de  back  yard,  talkin'  and  predictifyin'  ; 
and  some  say  dee  gwine  in  de  house  and  stan'  behin' 
Meh  Lady ;  and  some  dee  gwine  git  onder  de  beds ; 
and  some  wuz  pacifyin'  'em,  and  sayin',  dee  ain'  gwi' 
do  nuttin'.  I  jes'  parse  long  by  'em  right  quick,  and 


90  In  Ole  Virginia. 

went  'cross  de  yard  to  de  house,  and  I  put  meh  .head 
in  and  say : 

"  *  De  Yankeys  yander  comin'  down  de  hill.' 
"You  ought  to  'a'  seen  dee  face.  Meh  Lady* 
hands  drapt  in  her  lap,  and  she  looked  at  Mistis  so 
anxious,  she  skeer'  me.  But  do'  her  face  tu'n 
mighty  white,  't  warn'  mo'  'n  a  minute.  She  riz 
right  quiet,  and  her  head  wuz  jes'  as  straight  as  Meh 
Lady.  She  says  to  her : 

"  '  Hadn'  you  better  stay  here  ? ' 
" '  No,'  says  she,  '  I  will  go  with  you.' 
"  *  Come  on,'  says  she,  and  dee  walked  out  de  do', 
and  locked  it  behine  her,  and  Mistis  put  de  key  in 
her  pocket. 

"  Jes'  as  she  got  dyah,  dee  rid  into  de  yard,  an'  in 
a  minute  it  wuz  jes'  as  full  of  'em  as  a  bait-go'd  is  o* 
wums,  ridin'  'g'inst  one  anurr,  an'  hollerin'  an'  laugh- 
in'  an'  cussin' ;  an'  outside  de  yard,  an'  todes  de 
stables,  dee  wuz  jes'  swarmin'.  Dee  ain'  ax  nobody 
no  odds  'bout  nuttin',  an'  as  to  key,  dee  ain'  got  no 
use  fur  dat ;  jes'  bu'st  a  do'  down  quicker  'n  you  kin 
onlock  it.  Dee  wuz  in  de  smoke-house  an'  de  store- 
room quicker  'n  I  been  tellin'  you  'bout  it.  But  dat 
ain'  'sturb  Mistis,  nor  Meh  Lady  nurr.  Dee  wuz 
standin'  in  de  front  do'  jes'  as  study  as  ef  dee  wuz 
waitin'  fur  somebody  whar  come  to  dinner.  Dee 
come  pourin'  up  de  steps  an*  say  dee  gwine  th'oo  de 
house. 

" '  There  is  no  one  in  there,'  said  Mistis. 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  91 

"  '  What  are  you  doin'  on  de  po'ch  ? '  says  one,  sort 
o'  impident  like,  wid  a  thing  on  he  shoulder. 

" '  I  always  receive  my  visitors  at  my  front  do',' 
says  Mistis. 

"  '  Don't  you  invite  'em  in  ? '  says  he,  sort  o'  laugh- 
in'  an'  pushin'  by  her.  Jes'  den  I  heah  a  noige,  an' 
we  tu'n  roun',  an'  de  hall  wuz  right  full  on  'em — had 
come  in  de  back  do'.  Mistis  tunned  right  roun'  an* 
walk  into  de  house  right  quick,  puttin'  Meh  Lady 
'long  befo'  her.  Right  straight  th'oo  'em  all  she 
walk,  an'  up  to  Marse  Phil'  room  do',  whar  she  stan' 
wid  her  back  'g'inst  it,  holdin'  de  side.  Dee  wuz 
squandered  all  over  de  house  by  dis  time  an'  teckin' 
ev'ything  dee  want  an'  didn'  want,  an'  what  dee 
didn'  teck  dee  wuz  cuttin'  up.  But  soon  as  dee 
see  Mistis  at  Marse  Phil'  do',  dee  come  right  up  to 
her. 

" '  I  want  to  go  in  dyah,'  says  one — de  same  one 
whar  had  spoke  so  discontemptious»to  de  Mistis  on 
de  po'ch. 

" '  You  cyarn'  do  it,'  says  Mistis. 

" '  Well,  I'm  goin'  to,'  says  he. 

" '  You  are  not,'  says  Mistis,  lookin'  at  him  right 
study,  wid  her  head  up  an'  her  eyes  blazin'.  I  had 
my  axe  in  my  han',  an'  I  wuz  mighty  skeered,  but  I 
know  ef  he  had  lay  his  han'  on  de  Mistis  I  was  gwine 
split  him  wide  open.  He  know  better  'n  to  tetch 
her,  do'.  He  sort  o'  parly,  like  he  warn'  swade  her, 
an'  all  de  urrs  stop  an'  listen. 


92  In  Ole  Virginia. 

"  '  Who's  in  dyah  ?  '  says  he. 

"  '  No  one/  says  Mistis. 

"  '  Well,  what's  in  dyah  ? '  says  he. 

" '  The  memory  of  my  blessed  dead/  says  Mistis. 
She  speak  so  solemn,  hit  'peared  to  kind  o'  stall  him, 
an'  he  give  back  an'  mumble  some'n'.  Pres'n'y  do' 
anurr  one  come  up  fum  nigh  de  do',  an'  say  to 
Mistis : 

"  '  Where  is  you'  son  ?     We  want  him/ 

" '  Beyond  your  reach/  says  Mistis,  her  voice  kine 
o'  breakin',  an'  Meh  Lady  bu'st  out  cryin'. 

" '  His  grave  is  in  de  gyardin',  she  says,  wid  her 
hankcher  to  her  eyes. 

"  Gord  !  suh  !  I  couldn'  stan'  no  mo'.  I  jes'  cotch 
a  grip  on  my  axe,  an'  I  ain'  know  what  mout  'a'  hap- 
pen', but  he  took  off  he  hat  an'  tu'n  'way.  An'  jes' 
den  sich  a  racket  riz  nigh  de  do',  I  thought  must  be 
some  on  'em  got  to  killin'  one  'nurr.  I  heah  some- 
body's voice  rahin'  an'  pitchin'  and  callin'  'em  thieves 
an'  hounds,  an'  in  a  minute,  whack,  whack,  thump, 
thump,  I  heah  de  licks  soun'  like  he  hittin'  on  bar- 
rel-head, an'  I  see  a  s'o'de  flyin'  like  wheel-spokes, 
an'  de  men  in  de  hall  dee  jes'  squander ;  an'  as  de 
larst  one  jump  off  de  po'ch,  a  young  gent'man 
tunned  an'  walked  in  de  do',  puttin'  he  s'o'de  back 
in  he  scabbard.  When  he  got  't  in,  he  teck  off  he 
cap,  an'  walkin'  'bout  half-way  up  to  we  all,  he 
say: 

"  *  I  kinnot  'pologize  'nough,  madam,  for  dese  out- 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  93 

'ages ;  dee  officers  ought  to  be  shot  for  toleratin'  it. 
It  is  against  all  orders.' 

•"'I  don't  know;  it  is  our  first  'sperience,'  says 
Mistis.  'We  are  much  ondebted  to  you,  though, 
suh.' 

" '  Mayn't  I  interduce  myself? '  says  he,  comin'  up 
a  little  closer  to  we  all,  an'  meckin'  anurr  bow  very 
grand.  '  I  think  I  may  claim  to  be  a  kinsman  at 
least  of  my  young  Southern  cousin  here '  (meckin'  a 
bow  to  Meh  Lady  whar  wuz  standin'  lookin'  at  him) ; 
'  I'm  half  Virginian  myself.  I  am  Captain  Wilton, 
the  son  of  Colonel  Churchill  Wilton,  of  de  ole  army,' 
says  he. 

u  '  It  is  impossible,'  says  Mistis,  bowin'  low'n  him. 
'  Churchill  Wilton  was  a  Virginian,  do'  he  lived  at  de 
Norf ;  he  wuz  my  husband's  cousin  an'  my  dear 
friend.'  (He  come  from  New  York  or  somewhar, 
an'  he  had  been  co'tin'  Mistis  same  time  Marster  co't 
her.  I  know  him  well :  he  gi'  me  a  yaller  satin  wes- 
kit ;  a  likely  gent'man  too,  but  Marster  beat  him. 
You  know  he  gwine  do  dat.)  '  But  you  cannot  be 
his  son,  nor  a  Virginian  ;  Virginians  never  invade 
Virginia.' 

" '  But  I  am,  neverdeless,'  says  he,  sort  o'  smilin' ; 
'  an'  I  have,  as  a  boy,  often  hear'  him  speak  of 
you.' 

" '  We  claim  no  kinsmen  among  Virginia's  ene- 
mies,' says  Meh  Lady,  speakin'  fur  de  fust  time,  wid 
her  eyes  flashin',  an'  teckin'  holt  of  Mistis'  han',  an' 


94  In  Ole   Virginia. 

raisin'  herse'f  up  mighty  straight.  She  wuz  standin' 
by  her  ma,  I  tell  you  ;  dee  bofe  had  de  same  sperit 
— de  chip  don'  fly  fur  fum  de  stump.  But  he  wuz 
so  likely-lookin',  standin'  dyah  in  de  gre't  hall  meck- 
in'  he  bow,  an'  sayin'  he  Cap'n  Wilton,  I  mos'  think 
she'd  'a'  gi'n  in  ef  it  hadn'  been  fur  dat  blue  uniform 
an'  dat  s'o'de  by  he  side.  De  wud  seemed  to  hut 
him  mons'ous  do',  an'  he  raise  he  head  up  mighty 
like  we  all  folks  when  dee  gittin'  outdone.  Mistis, 
she  add  on  to  Meh  Lady,  an'  answer  he  'quest  'bout 
dinner.  Ez  he  had  come  to  teck  possession,  says 
she,  de  whole  place  wuz  his,  an'  he  could  give  what 
orders  he  please,  on'y  she  an'  Meh  Lady  would 
'quest  to  be  excused ;  an'  wid  dat  she  took  Meh 
Lady'  han',  an'  wid  a  gre't  bow  start  to  sweep  by 
him.  But  dee  ain'  git  ahead  o'  him;  befo'  dee  git 
de  wuds  out  dee  mouf,  he  meek  a  low  bow  hisse'f 
an'  say  he  beg  dee  pardin,  he  cyarn'  intrude  on  ladies, 
an'  wid  dat  he  sort  o'  back  right  stately  to  de  front 
do',  an'  wid  anurr  bow  done  gone,  he  saber  clam'rin 
down  de  steps.  I  'clar',  I  wuz  right  sorry  fur  him, 
an'  I  b'lieve  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  dee  wuz  too, 
'cause  he  sut'n'y  did  favor  Marse  Phil  when  he  r'ar 
he  head  up  so  tall,  an'  back  out  dat  do'  so  gran'. 
Meh  Lady  mine  smite  her  good,  'cause  she  tu'n  to 
me  an'  tell  me  to  go  and  tell  'Lijah  to  see  ef  he 
couldn'  get  him  some'n',  an'  call  him,  an'  pres'n'y 
she  come  in  de  dinin'-room  lookin'  herse'f.  After 
'Lijah  set  de  place  do',  an'  went  out  to  look  fur  him, 


Meh  Lady :  A   Story  of  the   War.  95 

dyah  wuz  a  soldier  standin'  at  ev'y  po'ch  right  solum, 
an'  anurr  one  at  de  kitchin  ;  an'  when  we  come  to 
fine  out,  dee  wuz  guards  Cap'n  Wilton  done  pos' 
dyah  to  p'teck  de  house,  but  he  done  gone  'long,  so 
I  give  he  snack  to  de  guards. 

"  Well,  dee  took  mos'  all  de  corn  dat  our  folks 
done  lef  out  de  corn-house,  an'  after  a  while  mos' 
on  'em  bridle  up  an'  went  'long,  an'  den  at  larst  de 
guards  dee  went  'long  'hind  de  turrs  ;  an'  de  larst 
one  hadn'  hardly  got  to  de  een  de  avenue  when  heah 
come  over  de  hill  some  o'  our  men  ridin'  'long  de 
road  fum  turr  way.  Meh  Lady  wuz  standin'  in  de 
yard  looking  mighty  'strustid  at  de  way  dee  done  do 
de  place,  'cause  dee  had  done  teoh  it  all  to  pieces  ; 
an'  her  eyes  light  up  at  de  sight  o'  our  men,  an'  she 
sort  o'  wave  her  hankcher  at  'em,  an'  dee  wuz  comin' 
down  de  hill  turr  side  de  creek  right  study,  when,  as 
Gord  would  have  it,  we  heah  a  horse  foot  flyin',  an' 
right  fum  turr  way  right  down  de  avenue,  he  horse 
in  a  lather,  come  dat  same  young  gent'man,  Cap'n 
Wilton.  Our  mens  see  him  at  de  same  time,  an' 
start  to  gallopin'  down  de  hill  to  git  him.  He  am' 
mine  'em  do';  he  gallop  up  to  de  gate  an'  pull  a  letter 
out  he  pocket.  Meh  Lady  she  wuz  so  consarned  'bout 
him,  she  sort  o'  went  todes  him,  callin'  to  him  to  do 
pray  go  'way.  He  ain'  mine  dat  ;  he  jes'  set  still 
on  he  nick-tail  bay,  an'  hole  he  paper  todes  her  right 
patient,  tell  she  run  down  de  walk  close  up  to  him, 
beggin'  him  to  go  'way.  Den  he  teck  off  he  cap  an' 


g6  In  Ole  Virginia, 

ben'  over,  an'  present  her  de  paper  he  got,  an'  tell 
her  hit  a  letter  he  got  fum  Gen'l  McClenan,  he  come 
back  to  gi'  her.  Meh  Lady,  chile  !  she  so  busy  beg- 
gin'  him  to  go  'way  an'  save  hisse'f,  she  forgit  to 
thank  him.  She  jes'  pleadin'  fur  him  to  go,  an'  hit 
'pear  like  de  mo'  she  beg,  de  mo'  partic'ler  he  settin' 
dyah  at  de  gate  lookin'  at  her,  not  noticin'  our  mens, 
wid  a  sort  o'  cu'yus  smile  on  he  face,  tell  jes'  as  our 
mens  gallop  up  in  one  side  de  yard,  an'  call  to  him 
to  s'render,  he  say  '  Good-by,  an'  tu'nned  an'  lay  he 
gre't  big  bay  horse'  foot  to  de  groun'.  Dee  shoot  at 
him  an'  ride  after  him,  an'  Meh  Lady  she  holler  to 
'em  not  to  shoot  him  ;  but  she  needn'  fluster  herse'f, 
dee  jes'  as  well  try  to  shoot  de  win',  or  ride  to  ketch 
a  bud,  de  way  dat  horse  run.  He  wuz  a  flyer!  He 
run  like  he  jes'  start,  an'  de  Cap'n  done  ride  him 
thirty  miles  sence  dinner  to  git  dat  paper  fum  Gen'l 
McClenan  fur  Meh  Lady. 

"  Well,  suh,  dat  night  de  plantation  wuz  fyah  'live 
wid  soldiers — our  mens ;  dee  wuz  movin'  all  night 
long,  jes'  like  ants,  an'  all  over  todes  de  gre't  road 
de  camp-fires  look  like  stars ;  an'  nex'  mornin'  dee 
wuz  movin'  'fo'  daylight,  gwine  'long  down  de  road, 
an'  'bout  dinner-time  hit  begin,  an'  from  dat  time 
tell  in  de  night,  right  down  yander  way,  de  whole 
uth  wuz  rockin'.  You'd  a-thought  de  wull  wuz  split- 
tin  open,  an'  sometimes  ef  you'd  listen  right  good 
you  could  heah  'em  yellin',  like  folks  in  de  harves'- 
fiel'  hollerin'  after  a  ole  hyah. 


Me/i  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  97 

"  De  nex'  day  we  know  we  all  done  scotch  'em, 
an'  dee  begin  to  bring  de  wounded  an'  put  'em  in 
folks'  houses.  Dee  bring  'em  in  amb'lances  an' 
stretchers,  tell  ev'y  room  in  de  house  wuz  full  up, 
'sep'  on'y  Mistis'  chahmber  an'  Meh  Lady'  room  an' 
Marse  Phil'  room.  An'  dyah  wuz  de  grettest  cuttin' 
up  o'  sheets  an'  linen  an'  things  fur  bandages  an' 
lint  you  ever  see.  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  even  cut  up 
dee  under-clo'es  fur  lint,  'cause  you  know  dee  wuz 
'bleeged  to  have  linen,  an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  teoh 
up  dee  under-clo'es  tell  dee  got  smack  out.  Hannah 
had  to  go  'long  afterwards  an'  gi'  'em  some  dee  done 
done  gi'  her.  Well,  so  'twuz,  de  house  wuz  full  like 
a  hospittle,  an'  doctors  gwine  in  an'  out,  an'  ridin' 
back'ards  an'  for'ards,  an'  cuttin'  off  legs  an'  arms, 
an'  hardly  got  time  to  tu'n  'roun'.  'Twuz  mighty 
hard  on  Meh  Lady,  but  she  had  grit  to  stan'  it.  Hi ! 
de  ve'y  mornin'  after  de  battle  a  doctor  come  out  de 
room  whar  a  wounded  gent'man  wuz,  an'  ketch  sight 
o'  Meh  Lady  parsin'  th'oo  de  hall,  an'  say,  '  I  want 
you  to  help  me,'  an'  she  say,  '  What  you  want  me  to 
do?'  an'  he  say,  'You've  got  to  hold  a  man's  arm,' 
an'  she  say,  '  To  bandage  it  ? '  an'  he  say,  '  No,  to 
cut  it  off ; '  an'  she  say  she  cyarn'  do  it,  an'  he  say 
she  kin  an'  she  must.  Den  she  say  she'll  faint,  an' 
he  say  ef  she  do  he'll  die,  an'  he  ain'  got  a  minute  to 
spyah  now.  Den  ef  she  ain'  walk  right  in  an'  hole 
he  arm,  tell  de  doctor  cut  't  off  an'  dress  it,  an'  den 
widout  a  wud  she  say,  '  Is  you  done?'  an'  he  say, 


98  In  Ole  Virginia. 

'  Yes ; '  an'  she  walk  out  an'  cross  de  yard  to  her 
mammy'  house  right  quick,  an'  fall  right  dead  down 
on  de  flo'.  I  wan'  dyah,  but  Hannah  sut'n'y  wuz 
outdone  'bout  dat  thing,  an',  you  know,  she  ain' 
nuver  let  Mistis  know  a  wud  'bout  it,  not  nuver — 
she  so  feared  she'd  'sturb  her !  Dat's  de  blood  she 
wuz ;  an'  dem  wuz  times  folks  wa'n't  dem  kind ! 
Well,  dat  same  evenin' — de  day  after  de  battle — Meh 
Lady  she  ax  one  de  doctors  ef  many  o'  de  cav'lry 
wuz  into  de  fight,  an'  he  say  she'd  think  so  ef  she'd 
been  dyah ;  dat  de  cav'lry  had  meek  some  splendid 
charges  bofe  sides  ;  dat  de  Yankey  cav'lry  had  charge 
th'oo  a  bresh  o'  pines  on  de  'streme  left  spang  up 
'g'inst  our  breas'wucks,  an'  a  young  Yankey  cap'n  in 
de  front  o'  all,  wid  he  cap  on  he  s'o'de,  on  a  nick-tail 
bay,  had  led  'em,  an'  had  spur  he  horse  jam  up  to 
our  line,  an'  bofe  had  fall  up  'g'inst  de  breas'wucks. 
I  tell  you  he  sut'n'y  wuz  pleased  wid  him  ;  he  say 
he  nuver  see  a  braver  feller ;  he  had  made  a  p'int  to 
try  an'  save  him  (an'  he'd  like  to  'a'  had  dat  horse 
too),  but  he  was  shot  so  bad  he  fear'd  'tain'  much 
show  fur  him,  as  he  sort  o'  knocked  out  he  senses 
when  he  fall  as  well  as  shot.  An'  he  say,  *  He  sich 
a  likely  young  feller,  an'  meek  sich  a  splendid  charge, 
I  teck  a  letter  out  he  pocket  to  'dentify  him,  an' 
heah  'tis  now,'  he  says  ;  *  Cap'n  Shelly  Wilton,'  he 
says,  handin'  it  to  Meh  Lady. 

"  When  he  say  dat,   Meh  Lady  ain'  say  nuttin', 
an'  Mistis  she  tu'n  'roun'  an'  walk  in  Marse  Phil' 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  99 

room  right  quick  an'  shet  de  do*  easy.  Den  pres'n'y 
she  come  out  an'  ax  Meh  Lady  to  have  de  kerridge 
gitten,  an'  den  she  walk  up  to  de  doctor,  an'  ax  him 
won'  he  go  down  wid  her  to  de  place  whar  he  lef 
dat  young  Yankey  cap'n  an'  bring  him  dyah  to  her 
house.  An'  she  say  he  her  husband'  cousin,  an'  she 
onder  obligations  to  him.  So  dee  went,  honey,  down 
to  de  battle-fiel'  all  roun'  de  road,  an'  'twuz  mos' 
wuss  'n  when  we  all  went  down  to  de  Peninsular 
after  Marse  Phil,  de  road  wuz  so  full  of  wounded 
mens ;  an'  when  we  fine  him  'twuz  right  dyah  at  dat 
gap — he  fall  right  dyah,  an'  dee  had  cyar'ed  him 
over  de  hill  ;  an'  do'  all  say  he  'bleeged  to  die,  Mistis 
she  had  him  tecken  up  an'  brung  right  to  her  house, 
an'  when  we  got  home  she  lead  de  way  an'  went 
straight  long  th'oo  de  hall ;  an',  befo'  Gord !  she 
opened  de  do'  herse'f  an'  cyar  him  right  in  an'  lay 
him  right  down  into  Marse  Phil'  baid.  Some  say 
hit  'cause  he  marster's  kinfolk  ;  but  Hannah,  she 
know,  an'  she  say  hit  'cause  Mistis  grievin'  'bout 
Marse  Phil.  I  ain'  know  huccome  'tis  ;  but  dyah  into 
Marse  Phil'  baid  dee  put  him,  an'  dyah  he  stay  good, 
an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  to  nuss  him  same  like  he 
wuz  Marse  Phil  hisse'f.  'Twuz  a  spell  do',  I  tell 
you  !  Dyah  wuz  all  de  turrs  well  an'  gone  befo'  he 
know  wherr  he  dead  or  'live.  Mistis,  after  de  battle, 
an'  all  de  'citement  sort  o'  let  down  ag'in,  had  to 
keep  her  room  right  constant,  and  all  de  nussin' 
an'  waitin'  fall  on  Meh  Lady  an'  Hannah,  an'  dee 


loo  In  Ole  Virginia. 

sut'n'y  did  do  dee  part  faithful  by  all  on  'em,  till 
fust  one  an'  den  anurr  went  away  ;  'cause,  you  know, 
we  couldn'  tell  when  de  Yankeys  wuz  gwine  to  come 
an'  drive  our  mens  back,  an'  our  soldiers  didn'  want 
to  be  tecken  pris'ners,  an'  moved  'way.  An'  pres'n'y 
dyah  warn'  none  lef  but  jes'  Cap'n  Wilton,  an'  he 
still  layin'  dyah  in  de  baid,  tossin'  an*  talkin',  wid  he 
eyes  wide  open  an'  am'  know  nuttin'.  De  doctor 
say  he  wound  better,  but  he  got  fever,  an'  he  cyarn' 
hole  out  much  longer ;  say  he'd  been  dead  long  ago 
but  he  so  strong.  An'  one  night  he  went  to  sleep, 
an'  de  doctor  come  over  fum  camp  an'  say  he  wan' 
nuver  gwine  wake  no  mo'  he  reckon,  jes'  a  byah 
chance  ef  he  ain'  'sturbed.  An'  he  ax  Meh  Lady 
kin  she  keep  him  'sleep  she  reckon,  an'  she  say  she'll 
try,  an'  she  did,  mon.  Mistis  she  wuz  sick  in  baid 
an'  dyah  ain'  nobody  to  nuss  him,  skusin'  Meh  Lady, 
an'  she  set  by  dat  baid  all  dat  night  an'  fan  him  right 
easy  all  night  long  ;  all  night  long  she  fan  him,  an' 
jes'  befo'  sun  up  he  open  he  eyes  an'  look  at  her. 
Hannah  she  jes'  gone  in  dyah,  thinkin'  de  chile  tire' 
to  death,  an'  she  say  jes'  as  she  tip  in  he  open  he 
eyes  an'  he  look  at  Meh  Lady  so  cu'yus,  settin'  dyah 
by  him  watchin'  ;  den  he  shet  he  eyes  a  little  while 
an'  sleep  a  little  mo'  ;  den  he  open  'em  an'  look 
ag'in  an'  sort  o'  smile  like  he  know  her ;  an'  den  he 
went  to  sleep  good,  an'  Hannah  she  tuck  de  fan  an' 
sont  de  chile  to  her  own  room  to  baid.  Yes,  suh, 
she  did  dat  thing,  she  did  !  An'  I  heah  him  say 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  101 

afterwards,  when  he  wake  up,  all  he  could  think 
'bout  wuz  he  done  git  to  heaven. 

"  Well,  after  dat,  Meh  Lady  she  lef  him  to  Mistis 
an'  Hannah,  an'  pres'n'y  he  git  able  to  be  holped 
out  on  de  big  po'ch  an'  kivered  up  wid  a  shawl  an' 
things  in  a  big  arm-cheer.  An'  'cause  Mistis  she 
mos'  took  to  her  baid,  an'  keep  her  room  right  con- 
stant, Meh  Lady  she  got  to  entertain  him.  Oh  ! 
she  sut'n'y  did  pomper  him,  readin'  to  him  out  o' 
books,  an'  settin.by  him  on  de  po'ch.  You  see,  he 
done  git  he  pay-role,  an'  she  'bleeged  to  teck  keer 
on  him  den,  'cause  she  kind  o'  'sponsible  for  him,  an* 
he  sut'n'y  wuz  satisfied,  layin'  dyah  wid  he  gray 
eyes  followin'  her  study  ev'ywhar  she  tu'n,  jes'  like 
some  dem  pictures  hangin'  up  in  de  parlor. 

"  I  'members  de  fust  day  he  walked.  He  done 
notify  her,  and  she  try  to  'swade  him,  but  he  mon- 
sus  sot  in  he  mind  when  he  done  meek  it  up,  and 
she  got  to  gi'  in,  like  women-folks  after  dee  done 
'spressify  some ;  and  he  git  up  and  walk  down  de 
steps,  and  'cross  de  yard  to  a  rose-bush  nigh  de  gate 
wid  red  roses  on  it,  she  walkin'  by  he  side  lookin' 
sort  o'  anxious.  When  he  git  dyah,  dee  talk  a  little 
while,  den  he  breck  one  and  gi'  't  to  her,  and  dee 
come  back.  Well,  he  hadn'  git  back  to  he  cheer 
befo'  heah  come  two  or  th'ee  gent'mens  ridin'  th'oo 
de  place,  one  on  'em  a  gener'l,  and  turrs  dem  whar 
ride  wid  'em,  our  mens,  and  dee  stop  at  de  gate  to 
'quire  de  way  to  de  hewn-tree  ford  down  on  de  river 


IO2  In  Ole  Virginia. 

and  Meh  Lady  she  went  down  to  de  gate  to  ax  'em 
to  'light,  and  .to  tell  'em  de  way  down  by  de  pond  ; 
and  when  she  standin'  dyah  shadin'  de  sun  from  her 
eyes  wid  a  fan,  and  de  rose  in.  her  hand  ('cause  she 
ain'  got  on  no  hat),  de  gener'l  say : 

"  t  You  have  a  wounded  soldier  dyah  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  he's  a  wounded  Federal  officer  on  parole,' 
she  says ;  and  he  say,  teckin'  off  he  hat : 

" '  Dee  ain'  many  soldiers  dat  wouldn'  envy  him 
he  prison.'  And  den  she  bows  to  him  sort  o'  'fusin* 
like,  and  her  face  mos'  blushin'  as  de  rose  de  Cap'n 
done  gi'  her  what  she  holdin' ;  and  when  dee  done 
rid  'long,  an'  ain'  stop,  she  ain'  gone  back  to  de  po'ch 
toreckly ;  she  come  out,  and  gi'  me  a  whole  parecel 
o'  directions  'bout  spadin'  de  border  whar  I 
standin'  heahin'  't  all,  wid  de  rose  done  stickin'  in 
her  bosom. 

"  You'd  think  de  way  Meh  Lady  read  to  him  dyah 
on  de  big  po'ch,  she  done  forgit  he  her  pris'ner  and 
Virginia'  enemy.  She  ain'  do' ;  she  jes'  as  rapid  to 
teck  up  for  de  rebels  as  befo'  he  come ;  I  b'lieve  she 
rapider ;  she  call  herse'f  rebel,  but  she  ain'  le'  him 
name  it.  I  'member  one  mornin'  she  come  in  out 
de  fiel'  an'  jump  off  her  horse,  an'  set  down  by  him 
in  her  ridin'-frock,  and  she  call  herse'f  a  rebel,  an' 
pres'n'y  he  name  us  so  too,  an'  she  say  he  sha'n't 
call  'em  so,  an'  he  laugh  an'  call  'em  so  ag'in,  jes1 
dyahsen,  an'  she  git  up  an'  walk  right  straight  in  de 
house,  head  up  in  de  air.  He  tell  her  de  rebels  wuz 


Meh  Lady:  A   Story  of  the   War.  103 

'treatin',  but  she  ain'  dignify  to  notice  dat.  He  teck 
up  a  book  an'  'pose  hese'f,  but  he  ain'  read  much; 
den  he  try  to  sleep,  but  de  flies  'pear  to  pester  him 
might'ly ;  den  Hannah  come  out,  an'  he  ax  her  is 
she  see  Meh  Lady  in  dyah.  Hannah  say,  '  Nor/ 
an'  den  he  ax  her  won'  she  please  go  an'  ax  her  to 
step  dyah  a  minute  ;  an'  Hannah  ain'  spicion  nuttin' 
and  went,  an'  Meh  Lady  say,  '  No,  she  won','  'cause 
he  done  aggrivate  her ;  an'  den  he  write  her  a  little 
note  an'  ax  Hannah  to  gi'  't  to  her,  an'  she  look  at 
it  an'  send  't  back  to  him  widout  any  answer.  Den 
he  git  mad.  He  twis'  roun'  in  he  cheer  might'ly ; 
but  'tain'  do  him  no  good,  she  ain'  come  back  all 
day,  not  tell  he  had  to  teck  he  pencil  an'  write  her 
a  sho'  'nough  letter ;  den  pres'n'y  she  come  out  on 
de  po'ch  right  slow,  dressed  all  in  white,  and  tell 
him  sort  o'  forgivin'  dat  he  ought  to  be  'shamed  o' 
hisse'f,  an'  he  sort  o'  laugh',  an'  look  like  he  ain' 
'shamed  o'  nuttin'. 

"  De  sut'n'y  wuz  gittin'  good-neighborly  'long 
den.  And  he  watch  over  her  jes'  like  she  got  her 
pay-role  'stid  o'  him.  One  day  a  party  o'  Yankeys, 
jes'  prowlin'  roun'  after  divilment,  come  gallopin'  in 
th'oo  de  place,  an'  down  to  de  stable,  and  had  meh 
kerridge-horses  out  befo'  I  know  dee  dyah.  I  run 
in  de  house  and  tell  Meh  Lady.  De  Cap'n  he  wuz 
in  he  room  and  he  heah  me,  and  he  come  out  wid 
he  cap  on,  bucklin'  on  Marse  Phil'  s'o'de  whar  he 
done  teck  down  off  de  wall,  and  he  order  me  to 


IO4  In  Ole  Virginia. 

come  'long,  and  tell  Meh  Lady  not  to  come  out ; 
and  down  de  steps  he  stride  and  'cross  de  yard  out 
th'oo  de  gate  in  de  road  to  whar  de  mens  wuz  wid 
meh  horses  at  de  fence,  wid  he  face  right  set.  He 
ax'  em  one  or  two  questions  'bout  whar  dee  from 
dat  mornin';  den  he  tell  'em  who  he  is  and  dat  dee 
cyarn'  trouble  nuffin'  heah.  De  man  wid  meh 
horses  see  de  Cap'n  mighty  pale  an'  weak-lookin', 
and  he  jes'  laugh,  an'  gether  up  de  halters  gittin* 
ready  to  go,  an'  call  de  urrs  to  come  'long.  Well, 
suh,  de  Cap'n'  eye  flash  ;  he  ain'  say  a  wud  ;  he  jes 
rip  out  Marse  Phil'  s'o'de  an'  clap  it  up  'ginst  dat 
man'  side,  an  cuss  him  once  !  You  ought  to  'a'  seen 
him  le'  dem  halters  go !  '  Now/  says  de  Cap'n, 
'  you  men  go  on  whar  you  gwine  ;  dyah  de  road  ;  I 
know  you,  an'  ef  I  heah  of  you  stealin'  anything  I'll 
have  you  ev'y  one  hung  as  soon  as  I  get  back. 
Now  go.'  An'  I  tell  you,  mon !  dee  gone  quick 
enough. 

"  Oh  !  I  tell  you  he  sut'n'y  had  de  favor  o'  our 
folks  ;  he  ain'  waste  no  wuds  when  he  ready ;  he 
quick  to  r'ar,  an'  rank  when  he  got  up,  jes'  like  all 
our  fam'bly ;  Norf  or  Souf,  dee  ain'  gwine  stand  no 
projeckin';  dee's  Jack  Robinson. 

"  So  'twuz,  Meh  Lady  sort  o'  got  used  to  'pendin' 
on  him,  an'  'dout  axin  her  he  sort  o'  sensed  when  to 
Vise  her. 

"  Sometimes  dee'd  git  in  de  boat  on  de  pond,  an* 
she'd  row  him  while  he'd  steer,  'cause  he  shoulder 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.  105 

ain'  le'  him  row.  I  see  'em  of  a  evenin'  jes'  sort  o' 
floatin'  down  deah  onder  de  trees,  nigh  de  bank,  or 
'mong  dem  cow-collards,  pullin'  dem  water-flowers, 
• — she  ain'  got  no  hat  on,  or  maybe  jes'  a  soldier's 
cap  on  her  head, — an'  hear  'em  talkin'  'cross  de 
water  so  sleepy,  an'  sometimes  he'd  meek  her 
laugh  jes'  as  clear  as  a  bud.  Dee  war'n  no  pay- 
role  den ! 

"  All  dis  time,  do',  she  jes'  as  good  a  rebel  as 
befo'  he  come.  De  wagons  would  come  an'  haul 
corn,  an'  she'd  'tend  to  cookin'  for  de  soldiers  all 
night  long,  jes'  same,  on'y  she  ain'  talk  to  him  'bout 
it,  an'  he  sort  o'  shet  he  eye  and  read  he  book  like 
he  ain'  see  it.  She  ain'  le'  Cap'n  Wilton  nor  Cap'n 
nuttin'  else  meek  no  diffunce  'bout  dat ;  she  jes' 
partic'lar  to  him  'cause  he  her  cousin,  dat's  all,  an' 
got  he  pay-role ;  we  all  white  folks  al'ays  set 
heap  o'  sto'  by  one  nurr,  dat's  all  she  got  in  her 
mind. 

"  I  almos'  begin'  to  spicionate  some'n'  myse'f,  but 
Hannah  she  say  I  ain'  nuttin'  but  a  ole  nigger-fool, 
I  ain'  know  nuttin'  'bout  white  folks'  ways ;  an* 
sho'  'nough,  she  done  prove  herse'f.  Hit  come 
'long  todes  de  larst  o'  fall,  'bout  seedin'-wheat  time ; 
de  weather  been  mighty  warm,  mos'  like  summer, 
an'  ev'ything  sort  o'  smoky,  hazy,  like  folks  bunnin* 
bresh  ;  an'  one  day  d'  come  fum  de  post-office  a  let- 
ter for  de  Cap'n,  an'  he  face  look  sort  o'  comical 
when  he  open  it,  an'  he  put  it  in  he  pocket ;  an' 


io6  In  Ole  Virginia. 

pres'n'y  he  say  he  got  to  go  home,  he  got  he  ex- 
changement.  Meh  Lady  am'  say  nuttin' ;  but  after 
while  she  ax,  kind  o'  perlite,  is  he  well  enough  yet 
to  go.  He  ain'  meek  no  answer,  an'  she  ain'  say  no 
mo',  den  bofe  stop  talkin'  right  good. 

"  Well,  dat  evenin'  dee  come  out,  and  set  on  de 
po'ch  awhile,  she  wid  her  hyah  done  smoove ;  den 
he  say  some'n  to  her,  an'  dee  git  up  an'  went  to 
walk ;  an'  fust  he  walk  to  dat  red  rose-bush  an'  pull 
two  or  th'ee  roses,  den  dee  went  saunterin'  right 
'long  down  dis  way,  he  wid  de  roses  in  he  han', 
lookin'  mighty  handsome.  Pres'n'y  I  hed  to  come 
down  in  de  fiel',  an'  when  I  was  gwine  back  to  de 
house  to  feed,  I  strike  for  dis  parf,  an'  I  wuz  walkin' 
'long  right  slow  ('cause  I  had  a  misery  in  dis  hip 
heah),  an'  as  I  come  th'oo  de  bushes  I  hyah  some- 
body talkin',  an'  dyah  dee  wuz  right  at  de  gap,  an' 
he  wuz  holdin'  her  hand,  talkin'  right  study,  lookin' 
down  at  her,  an'  she  lookin'  'way  fum  him,  ain'  say- 
in'  nuttin',  jes'  lookin'  so  miser'ble  wid  de  roses 
done  shatter  all  over  in  her  lap  an'  on  de  groun'.  I 
ain'  know  which  way  to  tu'n,  an'  I  hyah  him  say  he 
wan'  her  to  wait  an'  le'  him  come  back  ag'in,  an'  he 
call  her  by  her  name,  an'  say,  *  Won't  you  ! '  an'  she 
wait  a  little  while  an'  den  pull  her  hand  away  right 
slow ;  den  she  say,  sort  o'  whisperin',  she  cyarn'. 
He  say  some'n'  den  so  hoarse  I  ain'  meck't  out,  an' 
she  say,  still  lookin'  'way  fum  him  on  de  groun',  dat 
she  cyarn'  marry  a  Union  soldier.  Den  he  le'  go 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  107 

her  hand  an'  rar  hese'f  up  sort  o'  straight,  an'  say 
some'n'  I  ain'  meek  out  'sep'  hit  would  'a'  been  kin- 
der ef  she  had  let  him  die  when  he  wuz  wounded, 
'stid  o'  woundin'  him  all  he  life.  When  he  say  dat, 
she  sort  o'  squinch  'way  from  him  like  he  mos'  done 
hit  her,  an'  say  wid  her  back  todes  him  he  ought 
not  to  talk  dat  way,  dat  she  know  she  been  mighty 
wicked,  but  she  ain'  know  'bout  it,  an'  maybe — .  I 
ain'  know  what  she  say,  'cause  she  start  to  cryin' 
right  easy,  an'  he  teck  her  han'  ag'in  an'  kiss  it,  an' 
I  slip  roun'  an'  come  home,  an'  lef  'em  dyah  at  de 
gap,  she  cryin'  an'  he  kissin'  her  han'. 

"  I  drive  him  over  to  de  depot  dat  night,  an'  he 
gi'  me  a  five  dollars  in  gold,  an'  say  I  must  teck 
keer  o'  de  ladies,  I'se  dee  main'  pendence ;  an'  I  tell 
him  I  is,  an'  he  sut'ny  wuz  sorry  to  tell  me  good- 
by. 

"  An'  Hannah  say  she  done  tell  me  all  'long  de 
chile  ain'  gwine  mortify  herself  'bout  no  Yankey 
soldier,  don'  keer  how  pretty  an'  tall  he  is,  an'  how 
straight  he  hole  he  head,  an'  dat  she  jes'  sorry  he 
gone  'cause  he  her  cousin.  I  ain'  know  so  much 
'bout  dat  do.  Dat  what  Hannah  al'ays  say  she  tell 
me. 

"  Well,  suh,  ef  'twarn'  lonesome  after  dat !  Hit 
'peared  like  whip'o'will  sing  all  over  de  place ;  ev'y- 
whar  I  tu'n  I  ain'  see  him.  I  didn'  know  till  he 
gone  how  sot  we  all  dun  git  on  him ;  'cause  I  ain' 
de  on'y  one  dun  miss  him  ;  Hannah  she  worryin' 


108  In  Ole   Virginia. 

'bout  him,  Mistis  she  miss  him,  an'  Meh  Lady  she 
gwine  right  study  wid  her  mouf  shet  close,  but  she 
cyarn'  shet  her  eye  on  me :  she  miss  him,  an'  she 
signify  it  too.  She  tell  Mistis  'bout  he  done  ax  her 
to  marry  him  some  day  an'  to  le'  him  come  back, 
an'  Mistis  ax  what  she  say,  an'  she  tell  her,  an' 
Mistis  git  up  out  her  cheer  an'  went  over  to  her,  an' 
kiss  her  right  sorf ;  and  Hannah  say  (she  wuz  in  de 
chahmber  an'  she  hyah  'em),  she  say  she  broke  out 
cryin',  an'  say  she  know  she  ought  to  hate  him,  but 
she  don't,  an'  she  cyarn',  she  jes'  hate  an'  'spise  her- 
self ;  an'  Mistis  she  try  to  comfort  her ;  an'  she  teck 
up  de  plantation  ag'in,  but  she  ain'  never  look  jes' 
like  she  look  befo'  he  come  dyah  an'  walk  in  de  hall, 
so  straight,  puttin'  up  he  s'o'de,  an'  when  she  ain' 
claim  kin  wid  him  back  out  an'  say  he  cyarn'  intrude 
on  her,  an'  den  ride  thirty  mile'  to  git  dat  paper  an* 
come  an'  set  on  he  horse  at  de  gate  so  study  and 
our  mens  gallopin'  up  in  de  yard  to  get  him.  She 
wuck  mighty  study,  and  ride  Dixie  over  de  planta- 
tion mighty  reg'lar,  'cause  de  war  dun  git  us  so  low, 
wid  all  dem  niggers  to  feed,  she  hed  to  tu'n  roun' 
right  swift  to  git  'em  victuals  an'  clo'es ;  but  she 
ain'  look  jes'  like  she  look  befo'  dat,  an'  she  sut'n'y 
do  nuss  dat  rose-bush  nigh  de  gate  induschus.  But 
dem  wuz  de  een  o'  de  good  times. 

"  Hit  'peared  like  dat  winter  all  de  good  luck  done 
gone  'way  fum  de  place  ;  de  weather  wuz  so  severe, 
an'  we  done  gi'  de  ahmy  ev'ything,  de  feed  done  gi' 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.  109 

out,  an'  'twuz  rank,  I  tell  you  !  Mistis  an'  Meh 
Lady  sent  to  Richmon'  an'  sell  dee  bonds,  an'  some 
dee  buy  things  wid  to  eat,  an'  de  rest  dee  gin  de 
Gov'ment,  an'  teck  Confed'ate  money  for  'em.  She 
say  she  ain'  think  hit  right  to  widhold  nuttin',  an' 
she  teck  Marster'  bonds  an'  sell  'em  fur  Confed'ate 
Gunboat  stock  or  some'n.'  I  use'  to  hyah  'em  talkin' 
'bout  it. 

"  Den  de  Yankeys  come  an'  got  my  kerridge- 
horses !  Oh !  ef  dat  didn'  hu't  me !  I  ain'  git  over 
it  yit.  When  we  hyah  dee  comin'  Meh  Lady  tell 
me  to  hide  de  horses ;  hit  jes'  as  well,  she  reckon. 
De  fust  time  dee  come,  dee  wuz  all  down  in  de  river 
pahsture,  an'  dee  ain'  see  'em,  but  now  dee  wuz  up 
at  de  house.  An'  so  many  been  stealed  I  used  to 
sleep  in  de  stalls  at  night  to  watch  'em  ;  so  I  teck 
'em  all  down  in  de  pines  on  de  river,  an'  I  down 
dyah  jes'  as  s'cure  as  a  coon  in  de  holler,  when  heah 
dee  come  tromplin'  and  gallinupin',  an'  teck  'em 
ev'y  one,  an'  'twuz  dat  weevly  black  nigger  Ananias 
done  show  'em  whar  de  horses  is,  an'  lead  'em  dyah. 
He  always  wuz  a  mean  po'  white  folks  nigger  any- 
ways, an'  'twuz  a  pity  Mistis  ain'  sell  him  long  ago. 
Ef  I  couldn'  a  teoh  him  all  to  pieces  dat  day !  I 
b'lieve  Meh  Lady  mo'  'sturb  'bout  'Nias  showin'  de 
Yankeys  whar  de  horses  is  den  she  is  'bout  dee 
teckin'  'em.  'Nias  he  ain'  nuver  dyah  show  he  face 
no  mo',  he  went  off  wid  'em,  an'  so  did  two  or  th'ee 
mo'  'o  de  boys.  De  folks  see  'em  when  dee  parse 


no  In  Ole  Virginia. 

th'oo  Quail  Quarter,  an'  dee  'shamed  to  say  dee 
gone  off,  so  dee  tell  'em  de  Yankeys  cyar'  'em  off, 
but  'twarn'  nothin'  but  a  lie ;  I  know  dee  ain'  cyar' 
me  off ;  de  ax  me  ef  I  don'  wan'  go,  but  I  tell  'em 
'  Nor.' 

"  Things  wuz  mons'ous  scant  after  dat,  an'  me  an' 
Meh  Lady  had  hard  wuck  to  meek  buckle  and  tongue 
meet,  I  tell  you.  We  had  to  scuffle  might'ly  dat 
winter. 

"  Well,  one  night  a  cu'yus  thing  happen.  We  had 
done  got  mighty  lean,  what  wid  our  mens  an'  Yan- 
keys an'  all ;  an'  de  craps  ain'  come  in,  an'  de  team 
done  gone,  an'  de  fences  done  bu'nt  up,  an'  things 
gettin'  mighty  down,  I  tell  you.  And  dat  night  I 
wuz  settin'  out  in  de  yard,  jes'  done  finish  smokin', 
and  studyin'  'bout  gwine  to  bed.  De  sky  wuz  sort 
o'  thick,  an'  meh  mine  wuz  runnin'  on  my  horses,  an* 
pres'n'y,  suh,  I  heah  one  on  'em  gallopin'  tobucket, 
tobucket,  tobucket,  right  swif  'long  de  parf  'cross 
de  fiel',-  an'  I  thought  to  myself,  I  know  Romilus' 
gallop  ;  I  set  right  still,  an'  he  come  'cross  de  branch 
and  stop  to  drink  jes'  a  moufful,  an'  den  he  come 
up  de  hill.  I  say,  '  Dat  horse  got  heap  o'  sense  ;  he 
know  he  hot,  an'  he  ain'  gwine  hu't  hese'f  drinkin', 
don'  keer  how  thusty  he  is.  He  gwine  up  to  de 
stable  now,'  I  say,  '  an'  I  got  to  go  up  dyah  an'  le* 
him  in ; '  but  'stid  o'  dat,  he  tu'n  'roun'  by  de  laun- 
dry, an'  come  'roun'  de  house  to  whar  I  settin',  an' 
stop,  an'  I  wuz  jes'  sayin',  '  Well,  ef  dat  don'  beat 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  1 1 1 

any  horse  ever  wuz  in  de  wull ;  how  he  know  I 
heah  ? '  when  somebody  say,  *  Good-eveninY  I  sut'- 
n'y  wuz  disapp'inted  ;  dyah  wuz  a  man  settin'  dyah 
in  de  dark  on  a  gre't  black  horse,  an'  say  he  wan'  me 
to  show  him  de  way  th'oo  de  place.  He  ax  me  ef  I 
warn'  sleep,  an'  I  tell  him,  'Nor,  I  jes'  studyin';' 
den  he  ax  me  a  whole  parecel  o'  questions  'bout  Mis- 
tis  and  Marse  Phil  an'  all,  an'  say  he  kin  to  'em,  an' 
he  used  to  know  Mistis  a  long  time  ago.  Den  I  ax 
him  to  'light,  an'  tell  him  we'd  all  be  mighty  glad  to 
see  him  ;  but  he  say  he  'bleeged  to  git  right  on  ;  an' 
he  keep  on  axin'  how  dee  wuz  an'  how  dee  been, 
an'  ef  dee  sick  an'  all,  an'  so  'quisitive ;  pres'n'y  I 
ain'  tell  him  no  mo'  'sep'  dat  dee  all  well  'skusin' 
Mistis ;  an'  den  he  ax  me  to  show  him  de  way  th'oo, 
an'  when  I  start,  he  ax  me  cyarn  he  go  th'oo  de 
yard,  dat  de  'rection  he  warn'  go,  an'  I  tell  him 
1  Yes,'  an'  le'  him  th'oo  de  back  gate,  an'  he  ride 
'cross  de  yard  on  de  grahss.  As  he  ride  by  de  rose- 
bush nigh  de  gate,  he  lean  over,  an'  I  thought  he 
breck  a  switch  off,  an'  I  tell  him  not  to  breck  dat ;  dat 
Meh  Lady'  rose-bush,  whar  she  set  mo'  sto'  by  den 
all  de  res' ;  an'  he  say,  '  Tis  a  rose-bush,  sho'  'nough,' 
an'  he  come  'long  to  de  gate,  holdin'  a  rose  in  he 
hand.  Dyah  he  ax  me  which  is  Mistis'  room,  and  I 
tell  him,  *  De  one  by  de  po'ch,'  an'  he  say  he  s'pose 
dee  don'  use  upstyars  much  now  de  fam'bly  so 
small ;  an'  I  tell  him,  '  Nor,'  dat  Meh  Lady'  room 
right  next  to  Mistis'  dis  side,  an'  he  stop  an'  look 


112  In  Ole   Virginia. 

good ;  den  he  come  'long  to  de  gate,  an'  when  I  ax 
him  which  way  he  gwine,  he  say,  *  By  de  hewn-tree 
ford.'  An'  blessed  Gord !  ef  de  wud  ain*  bring  up 
things  I  done  mos'  forgit — dat  gener'l  ridin'  up  to 
de  gate,  an'  Meh  Lady  standin'  dyah,  shadin'  her 
eyes,  wid  de  rose  de  Cap'n  done  gi'  her  off  dat  same 
bush,  an'  de  gener'l  say  he  envy  him  he  prison.  I 
see  him  jes'  plain  as  ef  he  standin'  dyah  befo'  me, 
an'  heah  him  axin'  de  way  to  de  hewn-tree  ford  ;  but 
jes'  den  I  heah  some'n  jingle,  an'  he  jes'  lean  over 
an'  poke  some'n  heavy  in  my  hand,  an'  befo'  I  ken 
say  a  wud  he  gone  gallopin'  in  de  dark.  And  when 
I  git  back  to  de  light,  I  find  six  gre't  big  yaller  gold 
pieces  in  meh  hand,  look  like  gre't  pats  o'  butter, 
an'  ef  't  hadn'  been  for  dat  I'd  'mos'  'a'  believe' 
'twuz  a  dream  ;  but  dyah  de  money  an'  dyah  de 
horse-track,  an'  de  limb  done  pull  off  Meh  Lady' 
rose-bush. 

"  I  hide  de  money  in  a  ole  sock  onder  de  j'ice, 
and  I  p'int  to  tell  Meh  Lady  'bout  it ;  but  Hannah, 
she  say  I  ain'  know  who  'tis — jes'  s'picion  (and  so  I 
ain'  den) ;  and  I  jes'  gwine  'sturb  Mistis  wid  folks 
ridin'  'bout  th'oo  de  yard  at  night,  and  so  I  ain'  say 
nuttin' ;  but  when  I  heah  Meh  Lady  grievin'  'bout 
somebody  done  breck  her  rose-bush  an'  steal  one  of 
her  roses,  I  mighty  nigh  tell  her  who  I  b'lieve 
'twuz,  an'  I  would,  on'y  I  don't  orn'  aggrivate  Han- 
nah. You  know  'twon't  do  to  aggrivate  women- 
folks. 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  113 

"  Well,  'twarn'  no  gre't  while  after  dat  de  war 
broke  ;  'twuz  de  nex'  spring  'bout  plantin'-corn  time, 
on'y  we  am'  plant  much  'cause  de  team  so  weak ; 
stealin'  an'  Yankey  teckin'  together  done  clean  us 
up,  an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  had  to  gi'  a  deed  o' 
struss  on  de  Ian'  to  buy  a  new  team  dat  spring,  befo' 
we  could  breck  up  de  corn-land,  an'  we  hadn'  git 
mo'  'n  half  done  fo'  Richmon'  fall  an'  de  folks  wuz 
all  free ;  den  de  army  parse  th'oo  an'  some  on  'em 
come  by  home,  an'  teck  ev'y  blessed  Cord's  horse 
an'  mule  on  de  place,  'sep'  one  mule — George,  whar 
wuz  bline,  an'  dee  won'  have  him.  Dem  wuz  turri- 
ble  times,  an'  ef  Meh  Lady  an'  Mistis  didn'  cry !  not 
'cause  dee  teck  de  horses  an'  mules — we  done  get 
use'  to  dat,  an'  dat  jes'  meek  'em  mad  and  high-spir- 
ited— -but  'cause  Richmon'  done  fall  an'  Gener'l  Lee 
surrendered.  Ef  dee  didn'  cry !  When  Richmon' 
fall  dee  wuz  'stonished,  but  dee  say  dat  ain'  meek  no 
diffunce,  Gener'l  Lee  gwine  whip  'em  yit ;  but  when 
dee  heah  Gener'l  Lee  done  surrender,  dee  gin  up ; 
fust  dee  wouldn'  b'lieve  it,  but  dee  sut'n'y  wuz 
strusted.  Dee  grieve  'bout  dat  'mos'  much  as  when 
Marse  Phil  die.  Mistis  she  ain'  nuver  rekiver.  She 
wuz  al'ays  sickly  and  in  bed  like  after  dat,  and  Meh 
Lady  and  Hannah  dee  use'  to  nuss  her.  After  de 
fust  year  or  so  mos'  o'  de  folks  went  away.  Meh 
Lady  she  tell  'em  dee  better  go,  dat  dee'l  fine  dem 
kin  do  mo'  for  'em  'en  she  kin  now ;  heap  on  'em 
say  dee  ain'  gwine  way,  but  after  we  so  po'  dee  went 

8 


114  In  Ole  Virginia. 

'way,  do'  Meh  Lady  sell  some  Mistis'  diamonds  to 
buy  'em  some'n  to  eat  while  dee  dyah. 

"  Well,  'twan'  so  ve'y  long  after  dis,  or  maybe 
'twuz  befo',  'twuz  jes'  after  Richmon'  fall,  Mistis  get 
a  letter  fum  de  Cun'l — dat's  Cap'n  Wilton  ;  he  done 
Cim'l  den — tellin'  her  he  want  her  to  le'  him  come 
down  an'  see  her  an'  Meh  Lady,  an*  he  been  love 
Meh  Lady  all  de  time  sence  he  wounded  heah  in  de 
war,  an'  al'ays  will  love  her,  an'  won'  she  le'  him 
help  her  any  way ;  dat  he  owe  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady 
he  life.  Hannah  heah  'em  read  it.  De  letter  'sturb 
Mistis  might'ly,  an'  she  jes'  put  it  in  Meh  Lady'  han's 
an'  tu'n  'way  widout  a  wud. 

"  Meh  Lady,  Hannah  say,  set  right  still  a  minute 
an'  look  mighty  solemn  ;  den  she  look  at  Mistis  sort 
o'  sideways,  an'  den  she  say,  *  Tell  him  no.'  An* 
Mistis  went  over  an'  kiss  her  right  sorf. 

"  An'  dat  evenin'  I  cyar  de  letter  whar  Mistis 
write  to  de  office. 

"  Well,  'twarn'  so  much  time  after  dat  dee  begin 
to  sue  Mistis  on  Marster's  debts.  We  heah  dee 
suin'  her  in  de  co't,  an'  Mistis  she  teck  to  her  bed 
reg'lar  wid  so  much  trouble,  an'  say  she  hope  she 
won'  nuver  live  to  see  de  place  sold,  an'  Meh  Lady 
she  got  to  byah  ev'ything.  She  used  to  sing  to 
Mistis  an'  read  to  her  an'  try  to  hearten  her  up, 
meckin'  out  dat  'tain'  meek  no  diffunce.  Hit  did 
do',  an'  she  know  it,  'cause  we  po'  now,  sho'  'nough ; 
an'  dee  wuz  po'er  'n  Hannah  an'  me,  'cause  de  Ian' 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.          1 1 5 

am'  got  nobody  to  wuck  it  an'  no  team  to  wuck  it 
wid,  an'  we  ain'  know  who  it  b'longst  to,  an'  hit  all 
done  all  grow  up  in  bushes  an'  blackberry  briers ; 
ev'y  year  hit  grow  up  mo'  an  mo',  an'  we  git  po'er 
an'  po'er.  Mistis  she  boun'  to  have  flour,  ain'  been 
use'  to  nuttin'  but  de  fines'  bread,  jes'  as  white  as 
you'  shu't,  an'  she  so  sickly  now  she  got  to  have 
heap  o'  things,  tell  Meh  Lady  fyar  at  her  wits'  een 
to  git  'em.  Dat's  all  I  ever  see  her  cry  'bout,  when 
she  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  buy  what  Mistis  want.  She 
use  to  cry  'bout  dat  do.  But  Mistis  ain'  know 
nothin'  'bout  dat,  she  think  Meh  Lady  got  heap 
mo'n  she  is,  bein'  shet  up  in  her  room  now  all  de 
time.  De  doctor  say  she  got  'sumption,  an'  Meh 
Lady  doin'  all  she  kin  to  keep  't  fum  her  how  po' 
we  is,  smilin'  an'  singin'  fur  her.  She  jes'  whah  her- 
se'f  out  wid  it,  nussin'  her,  wuckin'  fur  her,  singin' 
to  her.  Hit  used  to  hu't  me  sometimes  to  heah 
de  chile  singin'  of  a  evenin'  things  she  use  to  sing  in 
ole  times,  like  she  got  ev'ything  on  uth  same  as 
befo'  de  war,  an'  I  know  she  jes'  singin'  to  ease  Mis- 
tis min',  an'  maybe  she  hongry  right  now. 

"  'Twuz  den  I  went  an'  git  de  rest  o'  de  money  de 
Cap'n  gi'  me  dat  night  fum  onder  de  j'ice  (I  had 
done  spend  right  smart  chance  on  it  gittin'  things, 
meckin'  b'lieve  I  meek  it  on  de  farm),  an'  I  put  it 
in  meh  ole  hat'  an'  cyar  it  to  Meh  Lady,  'cause  it  sort 
o'  hers  anyways ;  an'  her  face  sort  o'  light  up  when 
she  see  de  gold  shinin',  'cause  she  sut'n'y  had  use 


n6  In  Ole   Virginia. 

for  it,  an'  she  ax  me  whar  I  git  so  much  money,  an* 
I  tell  her  somebody  gi'  't  to  me,  an'  she  say  what  I 
gwine  do  wid  it.  An'  I  tell  her  it  hern,  an'  she  say 
how,  an'  I  tell  her  I  owe  it  to  her  for  rent,  an'  she 
bu'st  out  cryin'  so  she  skeer  me.  She  say  she  owe 
us  ev'ything  in  de  wull,  an'  she  know  we  jes'  stayin' 
wid  'em  'cause  dee  helpless,  an'  sich  things,  an'  she 
cry  so  I  upped  an'  tole  her  how  I  come  by  de  money, 
an'  she  stop  an'  listen  good.  Den  she  say  she  cyarn' 
tech  a  cent  o'  dat  money,  an'  she  oodn',  mon,  tell  I 
tell  her  I  wan'  buy  de  mule  ;  an'  she  say  she  consider 
him  mine  now,  an'  ef  he  ain'  she  gi'  't  to  me,  an'  I  say, 
nor,  I  wan'  buy  him.  Den  she  say  how  much  he 
wuth,  an'  I  say  a  hunderd  dollars,  but  I  ain'  got  dat 
much  right  now,  I  kin  owe  her  de  res' ;  an'  she  breck 
out  laughin',  like  when  she  wuz  a  little  girl  an' 
would  begin  to  laugh  ef  you  please  her,  wid  de  tears 
on  her  face  an'  dress,  sort  o'  April-like.  Hit  gratify 
me  so,  I  keep  on  at  it,  but  she  say  she'll  teck  twenty 
dollars  for  de  mule  an'  no  mo',  an'  I  say  I  ain'  gwine 
disqualify  dat  mule  wid  no  sich  price ;  den  pres'n'y 
we  'gree  on  forty  dollars,  an'  I  pay  it  to  her,  an'  she 
sont  me  up  to  Richmon'  next  day  to  git  things  for 
Mistis,  an'  she  al'ays  meek  it  a  p'int  after  dat  to 
feed  George  a  little  some'n'  ev'y  day. 

"  Den  she  teck  de  school ;  did  you  know  'bout  dat  ? 
Dat  de  school-house  right  down  de  road  a  little 
piece.  I  reckon  you  see  it  as  you  come  'long.  I 
ain'  b'lieve  it  when  I  heah  'em  say  Meh  Lady  gwine 


Meh  Lady :  A   Story  of  the   War,  1 1 7 

teach  it.  I  say,  *  She  teach  niggers  !  dat  she  am'  ! 
not  my  young  mistis.'  But  she  laugh  at  me  an' 
Hannah,  an'  say  she  been  teachin'  de  colored  chil'n 
all  her  life,  ain'  she  ?  an'  she  wan'  Hannah  an'  me  to 
ease  Mistis'  min'  'bout  it  ef  she  say  anything.  I 
sut'n'y  was  'posed  to  it,  do';  an'  de  colored  chil'n  she 
been  teachin'  wuz  diflunt — dee  b'longst  to  her.  But 
she  al'ays  so  sot  on  doin'  what  she  gwine  do,  she 
meek  you  b'lieve  she  right  don'  keer  what  'tis  ;  an'  I 
tell  her  pres'n'y,  all  right,  but  ef  dem  niggers  impi- 
dent  to  her,  jes'  le'  me  know  an'  I'll  come  down  dyah 
an'  wyah  'em  out.  So  she  went  reg'lar,  walk  right 
'long  dis  ve'y  parf  wid  her  books  an' her  little  basket. 
An'  sometimes  I'd  bring  de  mule  for  her  to  ride  home 
ef  she  been  up  de  night  befo'  wid  Mistis  ;  but  she 
wouldn'  ride  much,  'cause  she  think  George  got  to 
wuck. 

"  Tell  'long  in  de  spring  Meh  Lady  she  done  breck 
down,  what  wid  teachin'  school,  an'  settin'  up,  an' 
bein'  so  po',  stintin'  for  Mistis,  an'  her  face  gittin' 
real  white  'stid  o'  pink  like  peach-blossom,  as  it  used 
to  be,  on'y  her  eyes  dee  bigger  an'  prettier'n  ever, 
'sep'  dee  look  tired  when  she  come  out  o'  Mistis' 
chahmber  an'  lean  'g'inst  de  do',  lookin'  out  down  de 
lonesome  road  ;  an'  de  doctor  whar  come  from  Rich- 
rnon'  to  see  Mistis,  'cause  de  ain'  no  doctor  in  de 
neighborhood  sence  de  war,  tell  Hannah  when  he 
went  'way  de  larst  time  'tain'  no  hope  for  Mistis,  she 
mos'  gone,  an'  she  better  look  mighty  good  after 


u8  In  Ole   Virginia. 

Meh  Lady  too ;  he  say  she  mos'  sick  as  Mistis,  an* 
fust  thing  she  know  she'll  be  gone  too.  Dat  's.turb 
Hannah  might'ly.  Well,  so  'twuz  tell  in  de  spring. 
I  had  done  plant  meh  corn,  an'  it  hed  done  come 
up  right  good  ;  'bout  mos'  eight  acres,  right  below 
the  barn  whar  de  Ian'  strong  (I  couldn'  put  in  no  mo' 
'cause  de  mule  he  wuz  mighty  ole)  ;  an'  come  a  man 
down  heah  one  mornin',  riding  a  sway-back  sorrel 
horse,  an'  say  dee  gwine  sell  de  place  in  'bout  a 
mon'.  Meh  Lady  hed  gone  to  school,  an'  I  ain'  le' 
him  see  Mistis,  nor  tell  him  whar  Meh  Lady  is 
nuther ;  I  jes'  teck  de  message  an'  call  Hannah  so 
as  she  kin  git  it  straight ;  an'  when  Meh  Lady  come 
home  dat  evenin'  I  tell  her.  She  sut'n'y  did  tu'n 
white,  an'  dat  night  she  ain'  sleep  a  wink.  After  she 
put  her  ma  to  sleep,  she  come  out  to  her  mammy* 
house,  an'  fling  herself  on  Hannah'  bed  an'  cry  an* 
cry.  'Twuz  jes'  as  ef  her  heart  gwine  breck ;  she 
say  'twould  kill  her  ma,  an'  hit  did. 

"  Mistis  she  boun'  to  heah  'bout  it,  'cause  Meh 
Lady  'bleeged  to  breck  it  to  her  now ;  and  at  fust  it 
'peared  like  she  got  better  on  it,  she  teck  mo'  notice- 
ment  o'  ev'ything,  an'  her  eyes  look  bright  and  shiny. 
She  ain'  know  not  yit  'bout  how  hard  Meh  Lady 
been  had  to  scuffle ;  she  say  she  keep  on  after  her  to 
git  herse'f  some  new  clo'es,  a  dress  an'  things,  an'  she 
oont ;  an'  Meh  Lady  would  jes'  smile,  tired  like,  an' 
say  she  teachin'  now,  and  don'  want  no  mo*  'n  she  got, 
an*  her  smile  meek  m*  mos'  sorry  like  she  cryin'. 


Meh  Lady  :  A  Story  of  the   War.  1 19 

"  So  hit  went  on  tell  jes  befo'  de  sale.  An'  one 
day  Meh  Lady  she  done  lef  her  ma  settin'  in  her 
cheer  by  de  winder,  whar  she  done  fix  her  good  wid 
pillows,  an'  she  done  gone  to  school,  an'  Hannah 
come  out  whar  I  grazin'  de  mule  on  de  ditch-bank, 
an'  say  Mistis  wan'  see  me  toreckly.  I  gi'  Hannah 
de  lines,  an'  I  went  in  an'  knock  at  de  do',  an'  when 
Mistis  am'  heah,  I  went  an'  knock  at  de  chahmber 
do'  an'  she  tell  me  to  come  in  ;  an'  I  ax  her  how  she 
is,  an'  she  say  she  ain'  got  long  to  stay  wid  us,  an'  she 
wan'  ax  me  some'n,  and  she  wan'  me  tell  her  de  truth, 
an'  she  say  I  al'ays  been  mighty  faithful  an'  kind  to 
her  an*  hern,  an'  she  hope  Gord  will  erward  me  an' 
Hannah  for  it,  an'  she  wan'  me  now  to  tell  her  de 
truth.  When  she  talk  dat  way,  hit  sut'n'y  hu't  me, 
an'  I  tole  her  I  sut'n'y  would  tell  her  faithful.  Den 
she  went  on  an'  ax  me  how  we  wuz  gettin'  on,  an'  ef 
we  ain'  been  mighty  po',  an  ef  Meh  Lady  ain' 
done  stint  herse'f  more'n  she  ever  know  ;  an'  I  tell 
her  all  'bout  it,  ev'ything  jes'  like  it  wuz — de  fatal 
truth,  'cause  I  done  promised  her;  an'  she  sut'n'y 
was  grieved,  I  tell  you,  an'  the  tears  roll  down  an' 
drap  off  her  face  on  de  pillow ;  an'  pres'n'y  she  say 
she  hope  Gord  would  forgive  her,  an'  she  teck  out 
her  breast  dem  little  rocks  Marster  gi'  her  when  she 
married,  whar  hed  been  ole  Mistis',  an'  she  say  she 
gin  up  all  the  urrs,  but  dese  she  keep  to  gi'  Meh 
Lady  when  she  married,  an'  now  she  feared  'twuz 
pride,  an'  Gord  done  punish  her,  lettin'  her  chile 


I2O  In  Ole   Virginia. 

starve,  but  she  ain'  know  hit  'zactly,  an'  ign'ance  he 
forgive ;  an'  she  went  on  an'  talk  'bout  Marster  an* 
ole  times  when  she  fust  come  home  a  bride,  an*  'bout 
Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady,  tell  she  leetle  mo*  breck 
my  heart,  an'  de  tears  rain  down  my  face  on  de  flo'. 
She  sut'n'y  talk  beautiful.  Den  she  gi'  me  de  dia- 
monds, an'  dee  shine  like  a  handful  of  lightning- 
bugs  !  an'  she  tell  me  to  teck  'em  an'  teck  keer  on 
'em,  an'  gi'  'em  to  Meh  Lady  some  time  after  she 
gone,  an'  not  le'  nobody  else  have  'em  ;  an'  would 
n'  me  an'  Hannah  teck  good  keer  o'  her,  an'  stay 
wid  her,  and  not  le'  her  wuck  so  hard,  an'  I  tell  her 
we  sut'n'y  would  do  dat.  Den  her  voice  mos'  gin 
out  an'  she  'peared  mighty  tired,  but  hit  look  like 
she  got  some'n  still  on  her  min',  an'  pres'n'y  she  say 
I  mus'  come  close,  she  mighty  tired  ;  an'  I  sort  o' 
ben'  todes  her,  an'  she  say  she  wan'  me  after  she 
gone,  as  soon  as  I  kin,  to  get  the  wud  to  Meh  Lady's 
cousin  whar  wuz  heah  wounded  indurin'  o'  de  war 
dat  she  dead,  an'  dat  ef  he  kin  help  her  chile,  an'  be 
her  pertector,  she  know  he'll  do  it ;  an'  I  ain'  to  le' 
Meh  Lady  know  nuttin'  'bout  it,  not  nuttin'  't  all, 
an'  to  tell  him  he  been  mighty  good  to  her,  an'  she 
lef  him  her  blessin'.  Den  she  git  so  faint,  I  run  an' 
call  Hannah,  an'  she  come  runnin'  an'  gi'  her  some 
sperrits,  an'  tell  me  to  teck  de  mule  an  go  after  Meh 
Lady  toreckly,  an'  so  I  did.  When  she  got  dyah, 
do',  Mistis  done  mos'  speechless ;  Hannah  hed  done 
git  her  in  de  bed,  which  wan't  no  trouble,  she  so 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the  War.  1 2 1 

light.  She  know  Meh  Lady,  do',  an'  try  to  speak  to 
her  two  or  th'ee  times,  but  dee  ain'  meek  out  much 
mo'  'n  Gord  would  bless  her  and  teck  keer  on  her ; 
an'  she  die  right  easy  jes'  befo'  mornin'.  An'  Meh 
Lady  ax  me  to  pray,  an'  I  did.  She  sut'n'y  die 
peaceful,  an'  she  look  jes'  like  she  smilin'  after  she 
dead  ;  she  sut'n'y  wuz  ready  to  go. 

"  Well,  Hannah  and  Meh  Lady  lay  her  out  in  her 
bes'  frock,  an'  she  sho'ly  look  younger'n  I  ever  see 
her  look  sence  Richmon'  fell,  ef  she  ain'  look 
younger'n  she  look  sence  befo'  de  war ;  an'  de 
neighbors,  de  few  dat's  left,  an'  de  black  folks  roun* 
cum,  an'  we  bury  her  de  evenin'  after  in  thegyardin' 
right  side  Marse  Phil,  her  fust-born,  whar  we  know 
she  wan'  be ;  an'  her  mammy  she  went  in  de  house 
after  dat  to  stay  at  night  in  the  room  wid  Meh  Lady, 
an'  I  sleep  on  the  front  po'ch  to  teck  keer  de  house. 
'Cause  we  sut'n'y  wuz  'sturbed  'bout  de  chile ;  she 
ain'  sleep  an'  she  ain'  eat  an'  she  ain'  cry  none,  an' 
Hannah  say  dat  ain'  reasonable,  which  'taint,  'cause 
womens  dee  cry  sort  o'  'natchel. 

"  But  so  'twuz  ;  de  larst  time  she  cry  wuz  dat 
evenin'  she  come  in  Hannah'  house,  an'  fling  herse'f 
on  de  bed,  an'  cry  so  grievous  'cause  dee  gwine  sell  de 
place,  an'  'twould  kill  her  ma.  She  ain'  cry  no  mo' ! 

"  Well,  after  we  done  bury  Mistis,  as  I  wuz  sayin', 
we  sut'n'y  wuz  natchelly  tossified  'bout  Meh  Lady. 
Hit  look  like  what  de  doctor  say  wuz  sut'n'y  so,  an* 
she  gwine  right  after  her  ma. 


122  In  Ole   Virginia. 

"  I  try  to  meek  her  ride  de  mule  to  school,  an'  tell 
her  I  ain'  got  no  use  for  him,  I  got  to  thin  de  corn ; 
but  she  oodn't ;  she  say  he  so  po'  she  don'  like  to  gi' 
him  no  mo'  wuck  'n  necessary ;  an'  dat's  de  fact,  he 
wuz  mighty  po'  'bout  den,  'cause  de  feed  done  gi' 
out  an'  de  grass  ain'  come  good  yit,  an'  when  mule 
bline  an'  ole  he  mighty  hard  to  git  up  ;  but  he  been 
a  good  mule  in  he  time,  an'  he  a  good  mule  yit. 

"  So  she'd  go  to  school  of  a  mornin',  an'  me  or 
Hannah  one  'd  go  to  meet  her  of  a  evenin'  to  tote 
her  books,  'cause  she  hardly  able  to  tote  herse'f  den ; 
an'  she  do  right  well  at  school  (de  chil'un  all  love 
her) ;  twuz  when  she  got  home  she  so  sufTerin' ;  den 
her  mind  sort  o'  wrastlin  wid  itself,  an'  she  jes'  set 
down  an'  think  an  study  an'  look  so  grieved.  Hit 
sut'n'y  did  hut  me  an'  Hannah  to  see  her  settin1 
dyah  at  de  winder  o'  Mistis'  chahmber,  leanin'  her 
head  on  her  han'  an'  jes'  lookin'  out,  lookin'  out  all 
de  evenin'  so  lonesome,  and  she  look  beautiful  too. 
Hannah  say  she  grievin'  herself  to  death. 

"  Well,  dat  went  on  for  mo'  'n  six  weeks,  and  de 
chile  jes'  settin'  dyah  ev'y  night  all  by  herse'f  wid  de 
moonlight  shinin'  all  over  her,  meckin'  her  look  so 
pale.  Hannah  she  tell  me  one  night  I  got  to  do 
some'n,  an'  I  say,  '  What  'tis  ? '  An'  she  say  I  got  to 
git  de  wud  dat  Mistis  say  to  de  Cap'n,  dat  de  chile 
need  a  pertector,  an'  I  say,  '  How?'  And  she  say  I 
got  to  write  a  letter.  Den  I  say,  '•  I  cyarn'  neither 
read  nor  write,  but  I  can  get  Meh  Lady  to  write  it ; ' 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.  123 

an*  she  say,  nor  I  cyarn',  'cause  ain'  Mistis  done  spres- 
sify  partic'lar  Meh  Lady  ain'  to  know  nuttin'  'bout 
it  ?  Den  I  say,  '  I  kin  git  somebody  at  de  post- 
office  to  write  it,  an'  I  kin  pay  'em  in  eggs  ;  '  an'  she 
say  she  ain'  gwine  have  no  po'  white  folks  writin'  an* 
spearin'  'bout  Mistis'  business.  Den  I  say,  '  How  I 
gwine  do  den  ? '  An'  she  study  a  little  while,  an' 
den  she  say  I  got  to  teck  de  mule  an'  go  fine  him. 
I  say,  '  Hi !  Good  Gord  !  Hannah,  how  I  gwine  fine 
him  ?  De  Cap'n  live  'way  up  yander  in  New  York, 
or  somewhar  or  nuther,  an'  dat's  further  'n  Lynch- 
bu'g,  an'  I'll  ride  de  mule  to  death  befo'  I  git  dyah  ; 
besides  I  ain'  got  nothin'  to  feed  him.' 

"  But  Hannah  got  argiment  to  all  dem  wuds ;  she 
say  I  got  tongue  in  meh  head,  an'  I  kin  fine  de  way ; 
an'  as  to  ridin'  de  mule  to  death,  I  kin  git  down  an* 
le'  him  res',  or  I  kin  lead  him,  an'  I  kin  graze  him 
side  de  road  ef  nobody  oon  le'  me  graze  him  in  dee 
pahsture.  Den  she  study  little  while,  an'  den  say 
she  got  it  now — I  must  go  to  Richmon'  an'  sell  de 
mule,  an'  teck  de  money  an'  git  on  de  kyars  an'  fine 
him.  Hannah,  I  know,  she  gwine  wuck  it,  'cause 
she  al'ays  a  powerful  han'  to  'ravel  anything.  But  it 
sut'n'y  did  hu't  me  to  part  wid  dat  mule,  he  sich  a 
ambitious  mule,  an'  I  tell  Hannah  I  ain'  done  sidin' 
meh  corn  ;  an'  she  say  dat  ain'  meek  no  difTunce, 
she  gwine  hoe  de  corn  after  I  gone,  and  de  chile 
grievin'  so  she  feared  she'll  die,  an'  what  good  sidin' 
corn  gwine  do  den  ?  she  grievin'  mo'n  she  'quainted 


124  IH  Ok  Virginia. 

wid,  Hannah  say.  So  I  wuz  to  go  to  Richmon*  nex' 
mornin'  but  one,  befo'  light,  an'  Hannah  she  wash 
meh  shu't  nex'  day,  an'  cook  meh  rations  while  Meh 
Lady  at  school.  Well,  I  knock  off  wuck  right  early 
nex'  evenin'  'bout  two  hours  be  sun,  'cause  I  wan* 
rest  de  mule,  an'  after  grazin'  him  for  a  while  in  de 
yard,  I  put  him  in  he  stall,  an'  gi'  him  a  half-peck  o* 
meal,  'cause  dat  de  lahst  night  I  gwine  feed  him  ; 
and  soon  as  I  went  in  wid  de  meal  he  swi'ch  his  tail 
an'  hump  hese'f  jes'  like  he  gwine  kick  me ;  dat's  de 
way  he  al'ays  do  when  he  got  anything  'g'inst  you, 
'cause  you  sich  a  fool  or  anything,  'cause  mule  got 
a  heap  o'  sense  when  you  know  'em.  Well,  I  think 
he  jes'  aggrivated  'cause  I  gwine  sell  him,  an'  I 
holler  at  him  right  ambitious  like  I  gwine  cut  him  in 
two,  to  fool  him  ef  I  kin,  an'  meek  him  b'lieve  'tain' 
nothin'  de  matter. 

An'  jes'  den  I  heah  a  horse  steppin'  'long  right 
brisk,  an'  I  stop  an'  listen,  an'  de  horse  come  'long 
de  pahf  right  study  an'  up  todes  de  stable.  I  say, 
'Hi!  who  dat?'  an'  when  I  went  to  de  stall  do', 
dyah  wuz  a  gent'man  settin'  on  a  strange  horse  wid 
two  white  foots,  an'  a  beard  on  he  face,  an'  he  hat 
pulled  over  he  eyes  to  keep  de  sun  out'n  'em  ;  an' 
when  he  see  me,  he  ride  on  up  to  de  stable,  an'  ax 
me  is  Meh  Lady  at  de  house,  an'  how  she  is,  an'  a 
whole  parecel  o'  questions ;  an'  he  so  p'inted  in  he 
quiration  I  am'  had  time  to  study  ef  I  ever  see  him 
befo',  but  I  don'  think  I  is.  He  a  mighty  straight, 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War.  125 

fine-lookin'  gent'man  do',  wid  he  face  right  brown 
like  he  been  wuckin',  an'  I  ain'  able  to  fix  him  no 
ways.  Den  he  tell  me  he  heah  o'  Mistis'  death,  an' 
he  jes'  come  'cross  de  ocean,  an'  he  wan'  see  Meh 
Lady  partic'lar ;  an'  I  tell  him  she  at  school,  but  it 
mos'  time  for  her  come  back  ;  an'  he  ax  whichaways, 
an'  I  show  him  de  pahf,  an'  he  git  down  an'  ax  me 
ef  I  cyarn  feed  he  horse,  an'  I  tell  him  of  co'se,  do' 
Gord  knows  I  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  feed  him  wid  'sep' 
grahss ;  but  I  ain'  gwine  le'  him  know  dat,  so  I  ax 
him  to  walk  to  de  house  an'  teck  a  seat  on  de  po'ch 
tell  Meh  Lady  come,  an'  I  teck  de  horse  and  cyar 
him  in  de  stable  like  I  got  de  corn-house  full  o'  corn. 
An'  when  I  come  out  I  look,  an'  dyah  he  gwine 
stridin'  'way  'cross  de'fiel'  'long  de  pahf  whar  Meh 
Lady  comin'. 

"  Well,  I  say,  *  Hi !  now  he  gwine  to  meet  Meh 
Lady,  an'  I  ain'  know  he  name  nur  what  he  want,' 
an'  I  study  a  little  while  wherr  I  should  go  an'  fin' 
Hannah  or  hurry  myse'f  an'  meet  Meh  Lady.  Not 
dat  I  b'lieve  he  gwine  speak  out  de  way  to  Meh 
Lady,  'cause  he  sut'n'y  waz  quality,  I  see  dat ;  I 
know  hit  time  I  look  at  him  settin'  dyah  so  straight 
on  he  horse,  'mindin'  me  of  Marse  Phil,  and  he  voice 
hit  sholy  wuz  easy  when  he  name  Meh  Lady'  name 
and  Mistis' ;  but  I  ain'  know  but  what  he  somebody 
wan'  to  buy  de  place,  an'  I  know  Meh  Lady  ain' 
wan'  talk  'bout  dat,  an'  ain'  wan'  see  strangers  no 
way ;  so  I  jes'  lip  out  'cross  de  fiel'  th'oo  a  nigher 


126  In  Ole  Virginia. 

way  to  hit  de  pahf  at  dis  ve'y  place  whar  de  gap 
wuz,  an'  whar  I  thought  Meh  Lady  mighty  apt  to 
res'  ef  she  tired  or  grievin'. 

"  An'  I  hurry  'long  right  swift  to  git  heah  befo'  de 
white  gent'man  kin  git  heah,  an'  all  de  time  I  tu'nnin' 
in  meh  min'  whar  I  heah  anybody  got  voice  sound 
deep  an'  cl'ar  like  dat,  an'  ax  questions  ef  Meh  Lady 
well,  dat  anxious,  an'  I  cyarn'  git  it.  An'  by  dat 
time  I  wuz  done  got  right  to  de  tu'n  in  de  pahf  dyah, 
mos  out  o'  breaf,  an'  jes'  as  I  tu'nned  round  dat 
clump  o'  bushes  I  see  Meh  Lady  settin'  right  dyah 
on  de  'bankment  whar  de  gap  use'  to  be,  wid  her 
books  by  her  side  on  de  groun',  her  hat  off  at  her 
feet,  an'  her  head  leanin'  for'ard  in  her  han's,  an'  her 
hyah  mos'  tumble  down,  an'  de  sun  jes'  techin'  it 
th'oo  de  bushes  ;  an'  hit  all  come  to  me  in  a  minute, 
jes'  as  clear  as  ef  she  jes'  settin'  on  de  gap  dyah 
yistidy  wid  de  rose-leaves  done  shatter  all  on  de 
groun'  by  her,  an'  Cap'n  Wilton  kissin'  her  han'  to 
comfort  her,  an'  axin'  her  oon'  she  le'  him  come  back 
some  time  to  love  her.  An'  I  say, '  Dyah  !  'fo  Gord  ! 
ef  I  ain'  know  him  soon  as  I  lay  meh  eyes  on  him ! 
De  pertector  done  come  ! '  Den  I  know  huccome 
dat  mule  act  so  'sponsible. 

"  An'  jes'  den  he  come  walkin'  long  down  de  pahf, 
wid  he  hat  on  de  back  o'  he  head  an'  he  eyes  on  her 
right  farst,  an'  he  face  look  so  tender  hit  look  right 
sweet.  She  think  hit  me,  an'  she  ain'  move  nor  look 
up  tell  he  call  her  name ;  den  she  mos'  jump  out  her 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.  127 

seat,  and  look  up  right  swift,  an'  give  a  sort  o'  cry, 
an'  her  face  light  up  like  she  tu'n't  to  de  sun,  an'  he 
retch  out  bofe  he  han's  to  her  ;  an'  I  slip'  back  so  he 
couldn'  see  me,  an'  come  'long  home  right  quick  to 
tell  Hannah. 

"  I  tell  her  I  know  him  soon  as  I  see  him,  but  she 
tell  me  I  lie,  'cause  ef  I  had  I'd  'a'  come  an'  tell  her 
'bout  hit,  an'  not  gone  down  dyah  interferin'  wid 
white  folks  ;  an'  she  say  I  ain'  nuver  gwine  have  no 
sense  'bout  not  knowin'  folks,  dat  he  couldn'  fool 
her;  an'  I  don'  b'lieve  he  could,  a'tho'  I  ain'  'low  dat 
to  Hannah,  'cause  hit  don'  do  to  'gree  wid  wimens 
too  much ;  dee  git  mighty  sot  up  by  it,  an  den  dee 
ain'  al'ays  want  it,  nuther.  Well,  she  went  in  de 
house,  an  dus'  ev'ything,  an'  fix  all  de  furniture 
straight,  an'  set  de  table  for  two,  a  thing  ain'  been 
done  not  sence  Mistis  tooken  sick ;  an'  den  I  see  her 
gwine  'roun'  Meh  Lady'  rose-bush  mighty  busy,  an' 
when  she  sont  me  in  de  dinin'-room,  dyah  a  whole 
parecel  o'  flowers  she  done  put  in  a  blue  dish  in  de 
middle  o'  de  table.  An'  she  jes'  as  'sumptious  'bout 
dat  thing  as  ef  'twuz  a  fifty-cents  somebody  done  gi' 
her.  Well,  den  she  come  out,  an'  sich  a  cookin'  as 
she  hed  ;  ef  she  ain'  got  more  skillets  an'  spiders  on 
dat  fire  den  I  been  see  dyah  fur  I  don'  know  how 
long.  It  fyah  do'  me  good  ! 

"  Well,  pres'n'y  heah  dee  come  walkin'  mighty 
aged-like,  an'  I  think  it  all  right,  an'  dee  went  up  on 
de  po'ch  an*  shake  hands  a  long  time,  an'  den,  meh 


128  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Gord !  you  know  he  tu'n  roun'  an'  come  down  de- 
steps,  an'  she  gone  in  de  house  wid  her  handcher  to 
her  eyes,  cryin'.  I  call  Hannah  right  quick  an'  say, 
'  Hi,  Hannah,  good  Gord  A'mighty  !  what  de  motter 
now?'  an'  Hannah  she  look;  den  widout  a  wu'd  she 
tu'n  roun'  an'  walk  right  straight  'long  de  pahf  to  de 
house,  an'  went  in  th'oo  de  dinin'-room  an'  into  de 
hall,  an'  dyah  she  fine  de  chile  done  fling  herself 
down  on  her  face  on  de  sofa,  cryin'  like  her  heart 
broke ;  an'  she  ax  her  what  de  matter,  an'  she  say 
nuttin',  an'  Hannah  say,  '  What  he  been  sayin'  to 
you  ? '  an'  she  say,  *  Nuttin' ; '  an'  Hannah  ^ay,  '  You 
done  sen'  him  'way?'  an'  she  say,  '  Yes.'  Den 
Hannah  she  tell  her  what  Mistis  tell  me  de  day  she 
die,  an'  she  say  she  stop  cryin'  sort  o',  but  she  cotch 
hold  de  pillar  right  tight  like  she  in  agony,  an'  she 
say  pres'n'y,  *  Please  go  'way,'  an'  Hannah  come  'way 
an'  come  outdo's. 

"  An'  de  Cap'n,  when  he  come  down  de  steps,  he 
went  to  Meh  Lady'  rose-bush  an'  pull  a  rose  off  it, 
an'  put  't  in  a  little  book  in  he  pocket ;  an'  den  he 
come  down  todes  we  house,  an'  he  face  mighty  pale 
an'  'strusted  lookin',  an'  he  sut'n'y  wuz  glad  to  see 
me,  an'  he  laugh'  a  little  bit  at  me  for  lettin'  him 
fool  me ;  but  I  tell  him  he  done  got  so  likely  an' 
agreeable  lookin',  dat  de  reason  I  ain'  know  him. 
An'  he  ax  me  to  git  he  horse,  an'  jes'  den  Hannah 
come  out  de  house,  an'  she  ax  him  whar  he  gwine; 
an*  he  'spon'  he  gwine  home,  an'  he  don'  reckon  he'll 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.          129 

ever  see  us  no  mo* ;  an'  he  say  he  thought  when  he 
come  maybe  'twould  be  diff  unt,  an'  he  had  hoped 
maybe  he'd  'a'  been  able  to  prove  to  Meh  Lady 
some'n  he  wan'  prove,  an'  get  her  to  le'  him  teck 
keer  o'  her  an'  we  all ;  dat's  what  he  come  ten  thou- 
sand miles  fur,  he  say ;  but  she  got  some'n  in  her 
mine,  he  say,  she  cyarn'  git  over,  an'  now  he  got  to 
go  'way,  an'  he  say  he  want  us  to  teck  keer  on  her, 
an'  stay  wid  her  al'ays,  and  he  gwine  meek  it  right, 
an'  he  gwine  lef  he  name  in  Richmon'  wid  a  gent'- 
man,  an'  gi'  me  he  'dress,  an'  I  mus'  come  up  dyah 
ev'y  month  an'  git  what  he  gwine  lef  dyah,  and  re- 
port how  we  all  is ;  an'  he  say  he  ain'  got  nuttin'  to 
do  now  but  to  try  an'  reward  us  all  fur  all  our  kind- 
ness to  him,  an'  keep  us  easy,  but  he  wa'n'  nuver 
comin'  back,  he  guess,  'cause  he  got  no  mo'  hope  now 
he  know  Meh  Lady  got  dat  on  her  mine  he  cyarn' 
git  over.  An'  he  look  down  in  de  gyardin  todes  the 
graveyard  when  he  say  dat,  an'  he  voice  sort  o' 
broke.  Hannah  she  heah  him  th'oo  right  study,  an' 
he  face  look  mighty  sorrowful,  an'  he  voice  done  mos' 
gin  out  when  he  say  Meh  Lady  got  that  on  her  mine 
he  cyarn'  git  over. 

"  Den  Hannah  she  upped  an'  tole  him  he  sut'n'y 
ain'  got  much  sense  ef  he  come  all  dat  way  he 
say,  an'  gwine  'way  widout  Meh  Lady ;  dat  de  chile 
been  dat  pesterin'  herse'f  sence  her  ma  die  she  ain' 
know  what  she  wan'  mos',  an'  got  in  her  mine ;  an' 
ef  he  ain'  got  de  dictation  to  meek  her  know,  he 
9 


130  In  Ole   Virginia. 

better  go  'long  back  whar  he  came  fum,  an'  he  better 
ain'  never  set  he  foot  heah ;  an',  she  say  he  sut'n'y 
done  gone  back  sence  he  driv  dem  Yankeys  out  de 
do'  wid  he  s'o'de,  an'  settin'  dyah  on  he  horse  at  de 
gate  so  study,  an'  she  say  ef  'twuz  dat  man  he'd  be 
married  dis  evenin'.  Oh  !  she  was  real  savigrous  to 
him,  'cause  she  sut'n'y  wuz  outdone  ;  an'  she  tell 
him  what  Mistis  tell  me  de  day  she  'ceasted,  ev'y 
wud  jes  like  I  tell  you  settin'  heah,  an'  she  say  now 
he  can  go'  long,  'cause  ef  he  ain'  gwine  be  pertector 
to  de  chile  de  plenty  mo'  sufferin'  to  be,  dat  dee  pes- 
terin'  her  all  de  time,  an'  she  jes'  oon'  have  nuttin'  't 
all  to  do  wid  'em,  dat's  all.  Wid  dat  she  tu'n  'roun' 
an'  gone  in  her  house  like  she  ain'  noticin'  him,  an' 
he,  suh  !  he  look  like  day  done  broke  on  'im.  I  see 
darkness  roll  off  him,  an'  he  tu'n  roun'  an'  stride 
'long  back  to  de  house,  an'  went  up  de  steps  th'ee 
at  a  time. 

"  An'  dee  say  when  he  went  in,  de  chile  was  dyah 
on  de  sofa  still  wid  her  head  in  de  pillow  cryin', 
'cause  she  sut'n'y  did  care  for  him  all  de  time, 
an'  ever  sence  he  open  he  eyes  an'  look  at  her 
so  cu'yus,  settin'  dyah  by  him  fannin'  him  all  night 
to  keep  him  fum  dyin',  when  he  layin'  dyah  wounded 
in  de  war.  An'  de  on'y  thing  is  she  ain'  been  able 
to  get  her  premission  to  marry  him  'cause  he  wuz 
fightin'  'g'inst  we  all,  an'  'cause  she  got 't  in  her  mine 
dat  Mistis  don'  wan'  her  to  marry  him  for  dat  ac- 
count. An'  now  he  gone  she  layin'  dyah  in  de  gre't 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the  War.          131 

hall  cryin'  on  de  sofa  to  herse'f,  so  she  ain'  heah  him 
come  up  de  steps,  tell  he  went  up  to  her,  and  kneel 
down  by  her,  an'  put  he  arm  'roun'  her  and  talk  to 
her  lovin'. 

"  Hannah  she  went  in  th'oo  de  chahmber  pres'n'y 
to  peep  an'  see  ef  he  got  any  sense  yit,  an'  when  she 
come  back  she  ain'  say  much,  but  she  sont  me  to  de 
spring,  an'  set  to  cookin'  ag'in  mighty  induschus,  an' 
she  say  he  tryin'  to  'swade  de  chile  to  marry  him  to- 
morrow. She  oon'  tell  me  nuttin'  mo'  'sep'  dat  de 
chile  seem  mighty  peaceable,  an'  she  don'  know 
wherr  she  marry  him  toreckly  or  not,  'cause  she 
heah  her  say  she  ain'  gwine  marry  him  at  all,  an' 
she  cyarn'  marry  him  to-morrow  'cause  she  got  her 
school,  an'  she  ain'  got  no  dress ;  but  she  place  heap 
o'  'pendence  in  him,  Hannah  say,  an'  he  gone  on 
talkin'  mighty  sensible,  like  he  gwine  marry  her 
wherr  or  no,  an'  he  dat  protectin'  he  done  got  her 
head  on  he  shoulder  an'  talk  to  her  jes'  as  'fectionate 
as  ef  she  b'longst  to  him,  an' — she  ain'  say  he  kiss 
her,  bujt  I  done  notice  partic'lar  she  ain'  say  he 
ain' ;  an'  she  say  de  chile  sut'n'y  is  might'  satisfied, 
an'  dat  all  she  gwine  recite,  an'  I  better  go  'long  an' 
feed  white  folk's  horse  'stid  o'  interferin'  'long  dee 
business ;  an'  so  I  did,  an'  I  gi'  him  de  larst  half- 
peck  o'  meal  Hannah  got  in  de  barrel. 

"  An'  when  I  come  back  to  de  house,  Hannah 
done  cyar  in  de  supper  an'  waitin'  on  de  table,  an 
dee  settin'  opposite  one  nurr  talkin',  an'  she  po'in 


132  In  Ole  Virginia. 

out  he  tea,  an'  he  tellin'  her  things  to  make  her 
laugh  an'  look  pretty,  'cross  Hannah'  flowers  in  de 
blue  bowl  twix'  'em.  Hit  meek  me  feel  right 
young. 

"  Well,  after  supper  dee  come  out  an'  went  to 
walk  'bout  de  yard,  an'  pres'n'y  dee  stop  at  dat  red 
rose-bush,  and  I  see  him  teck  out  he  pocket-book 
an'  teck  some'n  out  it,  and  she  say  some'n,  an'  he 
put  he  arm — ne'm'  mine,  ef  Hannah  ain'  say  he  kiss 
her,  I  know — 'cause  de  moon  come  out  a  little  piece 
right  den  an'  res'  on  'em,  an'  she  sut'n'y  look 
beautiful  wid  her  face  sort  o'  tu'nned  up  to  him, 
smilin'. 

"  You  mine,  do',  she  keep  on  tellin'  him  she  ain' 
promise  to  marry  him,  an'  of  co'se  she  cyarn'  marry 
him  to-morrow  like  he  say ;  she  ain'  nuver  move 
fum  dat.  But  dat  ain'  'sturb  he  mine  now  ;  he  keep 
on  laughin'  study.  Tell,  'bout  right  smart  while 
after  supper,  he  come  out  an'  ax  me  cyarn'  I  git  he 
horse.  I  say,  'Hi!  what  de  matter?  Whar  you 
gwine  ?  I  done  feed  yo'  horse.' 

"  He  laugh  real  hearty,  an'  say  he  gwine  to  de 
Co'te  House,  an'  he  wan'  me  to  go  wid  him  ;  don*  I 
think  de  mule  kin  stan'  it?  an'  her  mammy  will  teck 
keer  Meh  Lady. 

"  So  in  'bout  a  hour  we  wuz  on  de  road,  an'  de 
last  thing  Meh  Lady  say  wuz  she  cyarn'  marry 
him ;  but  he  come  out  de  house  laughin',  an'  he 
sut'n'y  wuz  happy,  an*  he  ax  me  all  sort  o*  ques- 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the  War.  133 

tions  'bout  Meh  Lady,  an'  Marse  Phil,  an'  de  ole 
times. 

"  We  went  by  de  preacher's  an'  wake  him  up 
befo'  day,  an'  he  say  he'll  drive  up  dyah  after  break- 
fast ;  an'  den  we  went  on  'cross  to  de  Co'te  House, 
an'  altogether  'twuz  about  twenty-five  miles,  an'  hit 
sut'n'y  did  push  ole  George  good,  'cause  de  Cun'l 
wuz  a  hard  rider  like  all  we  all  white  folks ;  he  come 
mighty  nigh  givin'  out,  I  tell  you. 

"  We  got  dyah  befo'  breakfast,  an'  wash  up,  an' 
pres'n'y  de  cluck,  Mr.  Taylor,  come,  an'  de  Cun'l 
went  over  to  de  office.  In  a  minute  he  call  me,  an* 
I  went  over,  an'  soon  as  I  git  in  de  do'  I  see  he 
mighty  pestered.  He  say,  *  Heah,  Billy,  you  know 
you'  young  mistis'  age,  don't  you  ?  I  want  you  to 
prove  it.' 

"  '  Hi !  yes,  suh,  co'se  I  knows  it/  I  says.  '  Mistis 
got  her  an'  Marse  Phil  bofe  set  down  in  de  book  at 
home.' 

" '  Well,  jes'  meek  oath  to  it,'  says  he,  easy  like. 
1  She's  near  twenty-three,  ain't  she  ? ' 

"'Well,  'fo'  Gord!  Marster,  I  don'  know  'bout 
dat,'  says  I.  *  You  know  mo'  'bout  dat  'n  I  does, 
'cause  you  kin  read.  I  know  her  age,  'cause  I  right 
dyah  when  she  born ;  but  how  ole  she  is,  I  don' 
know,'  I  says. 

" '  Cyarn'  you  swear  she's  twenty-one  ? '  says  he, 
right  impatient. 

" '  Well,  nor,  suh,  dat  I  cyarn','  says  I. 


134  In  Ole  Virginia. 

"  Well,  he  sut'n'y  looked  aggrivated,  but  he  ain' 
say  nuttin',  he  jes'  tu'n  to  Mr.  Taylor  an'  say: 

"  *  Kin  I  get  a  fresh  horse  heah,  suh  ?  I  kin  ride 
home  an'  get  de  proof  an'  be  back  heah  in  five  hours, 
ef  I  can  get  a  fresh  horse ;  I'll  buy  him  and  pay  well 
for  him  too.' 

"  *  It's  forty  miles  dyah  an*  back,'  says  Mr. 
Taylor. 

"  *  I  kin  do  it ;  I'll  be  back  heah  at  half-past  twelve 
o'clock  sharp,'  says  de  Cun'l,  puttin'  up  he  watch  an' 
pullin'  on  he  gloves  an'  tu'nnin'  to  de  do'. 

"  Well,  he  look  so  sure  o'  what  he  kin  do,  I  feel 
like  I  'bleeged  to  help  him,  an'  I  say : 

" '  I  ain't  know  wherr  Meh  Lady  twenty-th'ee  or 
twenty-one,  'cause  I  ain'  got  no  learnin',  but  I  know 
she  born  on  Sunday  de  thrashin'-wheat  time  two 
years  after  Marse  Phil  wuz  born,  whar  I  cyar'  in  dese 
ahms  on  de  horse  when  he  wuz  a  baby,  an'  whar 
went  in  de  ahmy,  an'  got  kilt  leadin'  he  bat'ry 
in  de  battle  'cross  de  oat-fiel'  down  todes  Wil- 
liamsbu'g,  an'  de  gener'l  say  he  ruther  been  him 
den  President  de  Confederate  States,  an'  he's  'sleep 
by  he  ma  in  de  ole  gyardin  at  home  now ;  I  bury 
him  dyah,  an'  hit's  "  Cun'l "  on  he  tomb-stone  dyah 
now.' 

"  De  Cun'l  tu'n  roun'  an'  look  at  Mr.  Taylor,  an' 
Mr.  Taylor  look  out  de  winder  ('cause  he  know 
'twuz  so,  'cause  he  wuz  in  Marse  Phil'  bat'ry). 

"  *  You    needn'  teck   you'  ride,'  says   he,  sort   o' 


Meh  Lady :  A  Story  of  the   War,  135 

whisperin'.  An'  de  Cun'l  pick  up  a  pen  an'  write  a 
little  while,  an'  den  he  read  it,  an'  he  had  done  write 
jes'  what  I  say,  wud  for  wud  ;  an'  Mr.  Taylor  meek 
me  kiss  de  book,  'cause  'twuz  true,  an'  he  say  he 
gwine  spread  it  in  de  '  Reecord '  jes'  so,  for  all  de 
wull  to  see. 

"  Den  we  come  on  home,  I  ridin'  a  horse  de  Cun'l 
done  hire  to  rest  de  mule,  an'  I  mos'  tired  as  he,  but 
de  Cun'l  he  ridin'  jes'  as  fresh  as  ef  he  jes'  start ;  an' 
he  bring  me  a  nigh  way  whar  he  learnt  in  de  war, 
he  say,  when  he  used  to  slip  th'oo  de  lines  an'  come 
at  night  forty  miles  jes'  to  look  at  de  house  an'  see 
de  light  shine  in  Meh  Lady'  winder. 

"  De  preacher  an'  he  wife  wuz  dyah  when  we  git 
home ;  but  you  know  Meh  Lady  ain'  satisfied  in  her 
mine  yit.  She  say  she  do  love  him,  but  she  don' 
know  wherr  she  ought  to  marry  him,  'cause  she  ain' 
got  nobody  to  'vise  her.  But  he  says  he  gwine  be 
her  'viser  from  dis  time,  an'  he  lead  her  to  de  do* 
an'  kiss  her ;  an'  she  went  to  git  ready,  an'  de  turr 
lady  wid  her,  an'  her  mammy  wait  on  her,  while  I 
wait  on  de  Cun'l,  an'  be  he  body-servant,  an'  git  he 
warm  water  to  shave,  an'  he  cut  off  all  he  beard  'sep' 
he  mustache,  'cause  Meh  Lady  jes'  say  de  man  she 
knew  didn'  hed  no  beard  on  he  face.  An'  Hannah 
she  sut'n'y  wuz  comical,  she  ironin'  an'  sewin'  dyah 
so  induschus  she  oon'  le'  me  come  in  meh  own 
house. 

"  Well,  pres'n'y  we  wuz  ready,  an'  we  come  out  in 


1 36  In  Ole  Virginia. 

de  hall,  an'  de  Cun'l  went  in  de  parlor  whar  dee  wuz 
gwine  be  married,  an'  de  preacher  he  wuz  in  dyah, 
an'  dee  chattin'  while  we  waitin'  fur  Meh  Lady ;  an* 
I  jes'  slip  out  an'  got  up  in  de  j'ice  an'  git  out  dem 
little  rocks  whar  Mistis  gin'  me  an'  blow  de  dust  off 
'em  good,  and  good  Gord  !  ef  dee  didn'  shine  !  I  put 
'em  in  meh  pocket  an'  put  on  meh  clean  shu't  an* 
come  'long  back  to  de  house.  Hit  right  late  now, 
todes  evenin',  an'  de  sun  wuz  shinin'  all  'cross  de 
yard  an'  th'oo  de  house,  an'  de  Cun'l  he  so  impa- 
tient he  cyarn'  set  still,  he  jes'  champin'  he  bit  ;  so 
he  git  up  an'  walk  'bout  in  de  hall,  an'  he  sut'n'y 
look  handsome  an'  young,  jes'  like  he  did  dat  day 
he  stand  dyah  wid  he  cap  in  he  hand,  an'  Meh  Lady 
say  she  ain'  claim  no  kin  wid  him,  an'  he  say  he 
cyarn'  intrude  on  ladies,  an'  back  out  de  front  do', 
wid  he  head  straight  up,  an'  ride  to  git  her  de  letter, 
an'  now  he  walkin'  in  de  hall  waitin'  to  marry  her. 
An'  all  on  a  sudden  Hannah  fling  de  do'  wide  open, 
an'  Meh  Lady  walk  out ! 

"  Gord !  ef  I  didn'  think  'twuz  a  angel. 

"  She  stan  dyah  jes'  white  as  snow  fum  her  head  to 
way  back'  down  on  de  flo'  behine  her,  an'  her  veil  done 
fall  roun'  her  like  white  mist,  an'  some  roses  in  her 
han'.  Ef  it  didn'  look  like  de  sun  done  come  th'oo 
de  chahmber  do'  wid  her,  an'  blaze  all  over  de  styars, 
an'  de  Cun'l  he  look  like  she  bline  him.  An'  twuz 
Hannah  an'  she,  while  we  wuz  'way  dat  day,  done 
fine  Mistis'  weddin'  dress  an'  veil  an'  all,  down  to  de 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.          137 

fan  an'  little  slippers  'bout  big  as  two  little  white 
ears  o'  pop-corn  ;  an'  de  dress  had  sort  o'  cobwebs 
all  over  it,  whar  Hannah  say  was  lace,  an'  hit  jes' 
fit  Meh  Lady  like  Gord  put  it  dyah  in  de  trunk  for 
her. 

"  Well,  when  de  Cun'l  done  tell  her  how  beautiful 
she  is,  an'  done  meek  her  walk  'bout  de  hall  showin' 
her  train,  an'  she  lookin'  over  her  shoulder  at  it  an' 
den  at  de  Cun'l  to  see  ef  he  proud  o'  her,  he  gin  her 
he  arm  ;  an'  jes'  den  I  walk  up  befo'  her  an'  teck 
dem  things  out  meh  pocket,  an'  de  Cun'l  drap  her 
arm  an'  stan'  back,  an'  I  put  'em  'roun'  her  thote  an' 
on  her  arms,  an'  gin  her  de  res',  an'  Hannah  put  'em 
on  her  ears,  an'  dee  shine  like  stars,  but  her  face 
shine  wus'n  dem,  an'  she  leetle  mo'  put  bofe  arms 
'roun'  meh  neck,  wid  her  eyes  jes'  runnin'  over.  An' 
den  de  Cun'l  gi'  her  he  arm,  an'  dee  went  in  de  par- 
lor, an'  Hannah  an'  me  behine  'em.  An'  dyah, 
facin'  Mistis'  picture  an'  Marse  Phil's  (tooken  when 
he  wuz  a  little  boy),  lookin'  down  at  'em  bofe,  dee 
wuz  married. 

"  An'  when  de  preacher  git  to  dat  part  whar  ax 
who  give  dis  woman  to  de  man,  he  sort  o'  wait  an' 
he  eye  sort  o'  rove  to  me  disconfused  like  he  ax  me 
ef  I  know ;  an'  I  don'  know  huccome  'twuz,  but  I 
think  'bout  Marse  Jeems  an'  Mistis  when  he  ax  me 
dat,  an'  Marse  Phil,  whar  all  dead,  an'  all  de  scufflin' 
we  done  been  th'oo,  an'  how  de  chile  ain'  got  no- 
body to  teck  her  part  now  'sep'  jes'  me ;  an'  now, 


138  In  Ole   Virginia. 

when  he  wait  an'  look  at  me  dat  way,  an'  ax  me 
dat,  I  'bleeged  to  speak  up,  I  jes'  step  for'ard  an* 
say: 

" '  Ole  Billy.' 

"An*  jes'  den  de  sun  crawl  roun'  de  winder 
shetter  an'  res'  on  her  like  it  pourin'  light  all  over 
her. 

"  An'  dat  night  when  de  preacher  was  gone  wid 
he  wife,  an  Hannah  done  drapt  off  to  sleep,  I  wuz 
settin'  in  de  do'  wid  meh  pipe,  an'  I  heah  'em  set- 
tin'  dyah  on  de  front  steps,  dee  voices  soun'in'  low 
like  bees,  an'  de  moon  sort  o'  meltin'  over  de  yard, 
an'  I  sort  o'  got  to  studyin',  an'  hit  'pear  like  de 
plantation  'live  once  mo',  an'  de  ain'  no  mo'  scufflin', 
an'  de  ole  times  done  come  back  ag'in,  an'  I  heah 
meh  kerridge-horses  stompin'  in  de  stalls,  an'  de 
place  all  cleared  up  ag'in,  an'  fence  all  roun'  de 
pahsture,  an'  I  smell  de  wet  clover-blossoms  right 
good,  an'  Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady  done  come  back, 
an'  runnin'  all  roun'  me,  climbin'  up  on  meh  knees, 
callin'  me  '  Unc'  Billy,'  an'  pesterin'  me  to  go  fishin', 
while  somehow  Meh  Lady  an'  de  Cun'l,  settin'  dyah 
on  de  steps  wid  dee  voice  hummin'  low  like  water 
runnin'  in  de'  dark — 


An'  dat  Phil,  suh,"  he  broke  off,  rising  from  the 
ground  on  which  we  had  been  seated  for  some  time, 
"  dat  Phil,  suh,  he  mo'  like  Marse  Phil  'n  he  like  he 


Meh  Lady:  A  Story  of  the   War.          139 

pa ;  an'  Billy — he  ain'  so  ole,  but  he  ain'  fur  behine 

him." 

"  Billy,"  I  said  ;  "  he's  named  after—" 

"  Go  'way,  Marster,"  he  said  deprecatingly,  "  who 

gwine  name  gent'man  after  a  ole  nigger?" 


OLE  'STRACTED. 

"  A  WE,  little  Ephum  !  awe,  little  E-phum  !  ef  you 
•£!•  don'  come  'long  heah,  boy,  an*  rock  dis  chile, 
I'll  buss  you  haid  open  !  "  screamed  the  high-pitched 
voice  of  a  woman,  breaking  the  stillness  of  the  sum- 
mer evening.  She  had  just  come  to  the  door  of  the 
little  cabin,  where  she  was  now  standing,  anxiously 
scanning  the  space  before  her,  while  a  baby's  plain- 
tive wail  rose  and  fell  within  with  wearying  monot- 
ony. The  log  cabin,  set  in  a  gall  in  the  middle  of 
an  old  field  all  grown  up  in  sassafras,  was  not  a  very 
inviting-looking  place ;  a  few  hens  loitering  about 
the  new  hen-house,  a  brood  of  half-grown  chickens 
picking  in  the  grass  and  watching  the  door,  and  a 
runty  pig  tied  to  a  "  stob,"  were  the  only  sign's  of 
thrift ;  yet  the  face  of  the  woman  cleared  up  as  she 
gazed  about  her  and  afar  off,  where  the  gleam  of 
green  made  a  pleasant  spot,  where  the  corn  grew  in 
the  river-bottom ;  for  it  was  her  home,  and  the  best 
of  all  was  she  thought  it  belonged  to  them. 

A  rumble  of  distant  thunder  caught  her  ear,  and 
she  stepped  down  and  took  a  well-worn  garment 
from  the  clothes-line,  stretched  between  two  dog- 
wood forks,  and  having,  after  a  keen  glance  down 


Ole  'Stracted.  141 

the  path  through  the  bushes,  satisfied  herself  that 
no  one  was  in  sight,  she  returned  to  the  house,  and 
the  baby's  voice  rose  louder  than  before.  The 
mother,  as  she  set  out  her  ironing  table,  raised  a 
dirge-like  hymn,  which  she  chanted,  partly  from 
habit  and  partly  in  self-defence.  She  ironed  care- 
fully the  ragged  shirt  she  had  just  taken  from  the 
line,  and  then,  after  some  search,  finding  a  needle 
and  cotton,  she  drew  a  chair  to  the  door  and  pro- 
ceeded to  mend  the  garment. 

"Dis  de  on'ies'  shut  Ole  'Stracted  got,"  she 
said,  as  if  in  apology  to  herself  for  being  so 
careful. 

The  cloud  slowly  gathered  over  the  pines  in  the 
direction  of  the  path  ;  the  fowls  carefully  tripped 
up  the  path,  and  after  a  prudent  pause  at  the  hole, 
disappeared  one  by  one  within  ;  the  chickens  picked 
in  a  gradually  contracting  circuit,  and  finally  one  or 
two  stole  furtively  to  the  cabin  door,  and  after  a 
brief  reconnoissance  came  in,  and  fluttered  up  the 
ladder  to  the  loft,  where  they  had  been  born,  and 
yet  roosted.  Once  more  the  baby's  voice  prevailed, 
and  once  more  the  woman  went  to  the  door,  and, 
looking  down  the  path,  screamed,  "  Awe,  little 
Ephum  !  awe,  little  Ephum  !  " 

"  Ma'm,"  came  the  not  very  distant  answer  from 
the  bushes. 

"  Why  'n't  you  come  'long  heah,  boy,  an'  rock  dis 
chile?" 


142  In  Ole  Virginia. 

"  Yes'm,  I  cominV'  came  the  answer.  She  waited, 
watching,  until  there  emerged  from  the  bushes  a 
queer  little  caravan,  headed  by  a  small  brat,  who 
staggered  under  the  weight  of  another  apparently 
nearly  as  large  and  quite  as  black  as  himself,  while 
several  more  of  various  degrees  of  diminutiveness 
struggled  along  behind. 

"  Ain't  you  heah  me  callin'  you,  boy  ?  You  better 
come  when  I  call  you.  I'll  tyah  you  all  to  pieces ! " 
pursued  the  woman,  in  the  angriest  of  keys,  her 
countenance,  however,  appearing  unruffled.  The 
head  of  the  caravan  stooped  and  deposited  his 
burden  carefully  on  the  ground  ;  then,  with  a  comi- 
cal look  of  mingled  alarm  and  penitence,  he  slowly 
approached  the  door,  keeping  his  eye  watchfully  on 
his  mother,  and,  picking  his  opportunity,  slipped  in 
past  her,  dodging  skilfully  just  enough  to  escape  a 
blow  which  she  aimed  at  him,  and  which  would 
have  "  slapped  him  flat"  had  it  struck  him,  but 
which,  in  truth,  was  intended  merely  to  warn  and 
keep  him  in  wholesome  fear,  and  was  purposely 
aimed  high  enough  to  miss  him,  allowing  for  the 
certain  dodge. 

The  culprit,  having  stifled  the  whimper  with  which 
he  was  prepared,  flung  himself  on  to  the  foot  of  the 
rough  plank  cradle,  and  began  to  rock  it  violently 
and  noisily,  using  one  leg  as  a  lever,  and  singing  an 
accompaniment,  of  which  the  only  words  that  rose 
above  the  noise  of  the  rockers  were  "  By-a-by,  don't 


Ole  'Stracted.  143 

you  cry ;  go  to  sleep,  little  baby ; "  and  sure  enough 
the  baby  stopped  crying  and  went  to  sleep. 

Eph  watched  his  mammy  furtively  as  she  scraped 
away  the  ashes  and  laid  the  thick  pone  of  dough  on 
the  hearth,  and  shovelled  the  hot  ashes  upon  it. 
Supper  would  be  ready  directly,  and  it  was  time  to 
propitiate  her.  He  bethought  himself  of  a  mes- 
sage. 

"  Mammy,  Ole  'Stracted  say  you  must  bring  he 
shut ;  he  say  he  marster  comin'  to-night." 

"  How  he  say  he  is?"  inquired  the  woman,  with 
some  interest. 

"  He  am'  say — jes  say  he  want  he  shut.  He  sut- 
ny  is  comical — he  layin'  down  in  de  baid."  Then, 
having  relieved  his  mind,  Eph  went  to  sleep  in  the 
cradle. 

"'Layin'  down  in  de  baid?'"  quoted  the  woman 
to  herself  as  she  moved  about  the  room.  "  I  'ain' 
nuver  'hearn  'bout  dat  befo'.  Dat  sutny  is  a 
comical  ole  man  anyways.  He  say  he  used  to  live 
on  dis  plantation,  an'  yit  he  al'ays  talkin'  'bout  de 
gret  house  an'  de  fine  kerridges  dee  used  to  have, 
an'  'bout  he  marster  comin'  to  buy  him  back.  De 
'ain'  nuver  been  no  gret  house  on  dis  place,  not 
sence  I  know  nuttin  'bout  it,  'sep  de  overseer  house 
whar  dat  man  live.  I  heah  Ephum  say  Aunt  Di- 
nah tell  him  de  ole  house  whar  used  to  be  on  de  hill 
whar  dat  gret  oak-tree  is  in  de  pines  bu'nt  down  de 
year  he  wuz  born,  an'  he  ole  marster  had  to  live  in 


144  In  Ole  Virginia. 

de  overseer  house,  an'  hit  break  he  heart,  an'  dee 
teck  all  he  niggers,  an'  dat's  de  way  he  come  to 
blongst  to  we  all ;  but  dat  ole  man  ain'  know  nut- 
tin  'bout  dat  house,  'cause  hit  bu'nt  down.  I  won- 
der whar  he  did  come  from  ? "  she  pursued,  "  an' 
what  he  sho'  'nough  name?  He  sholy  couldn'  been 
named  '  Ole  'Stracted,'  jes  so  ;  dat  ain'  no  name  'tall. 
Yit  ef  he  ain'  'stracted,  'tain'  nobody  is.  He  ain' 
even  know  he  own  name,"  she  continued,  presently. 
"  Say  he  marster  '11  know  him  when  he  come — ain' 
know  de  folks  is  free ;  say  he  marster  gwi  buy  him 
back  in  de  summer  an'  kyar  him  home,  an'  'bout  de 
money  he  gwine  gi'  him.  Ef  he  got  any  money,  I 
wonder  he  live  down  dyah  in  dat  evil-sperit  hole." 
And  the  woman  glanced  around  with  great  compla- 
cency on  the  picture-pasted  walls  of  her  own  by  no 
means  sumptuously  furnished  house.  "Money!" 
she  repeated  aloud,  as  she  began  to  rake  in  the 
ashes,  "  He  ain'  got  nuttin.  I  got  to  kyar  him 
piece  o'  dis  bread  now,"  and  she  went  off  into  a 
dream  of  what  they  would  do  when  the  big  crop  on 
their  land  should  be  all  in,  and  the  last  payment 
made  on  the  house ;  of  what  she  would  wear,  and 
how  she  would  dress  the  children,  and  the  appear- 
ance she  would  make  at  meeting,  not  reflecting  that 
the  sum  they  had  paid  on  the  property  had  never, 
even  with  all  their  stinting,  amounted  in  any  one 
year  to  more  than  a  few  dollars  over  the  rent 
charged  for  the  place,  and  that  the  eight  hundred 


Ole  'Stracted.  145 

dollars  yet  due  on  it  was  more  than  they  could  make 
at  the  present  rate  in  a  lifetime. 

"  Ef  Ephum  jes  had  a  mule,  or  even  somebody 
to  help  him/'  she  thought,  "  but  he  ain'  got  nuttin. 
De  chil'n  ain'  big  'nough  to  do  nuttin  but  eat ;  he 
'ain'  got  no  brurrs,  an'  he  deddy  took  'way  an'  sold 
down  Souf  de  same  time  my  ole  marster  whar  dead 
buy  him  ;  dat's  what  I  al'ays  heah  'em  say,  an'  I 
know  he's  dead  long  befo'  dis,  'cause  I  heah  'em  say 
dese  Virginia  niggers  earn  stan'  hit  long  deah,  hit 
so  hot,  hit  frizzle  'em  up,  an'  I  reckon  he  die  befo' 
he  ole  marster,  whar  I  heah  say  die  of  a  broked 
heart  torectly  after  dee  teck  he  niggers  an'  sell  'em 
befo'  he  face.  I  heah  Aunt  Dinah  say  dat,  an'  dat 
he  might'ly  sot  on  he  ole  servants,  spressaly  on 
Ephum  deddy,  whar  named  Little  Ephum,  an'  whar 
used  to  wait  on  him.  Dis  mus'  'a'  been  a  gret  place 
dem  days,  'cordin'  to  what  dee  say."  She  went  on  : 
"  Dee  say  he  sutny  live  strong,  wuz  jes  rich  as 
cream,  an'  weahed  he  blue  coat  an'  brass  buttons, 
an'  lived  in  dat  ole  house  whar  wuz  up  whar  de 
pines  is  now,  an'  whar  bu'nt  down,  like  he  owned  de 
wull.  An'  now  look  at  it ;  dat  man  own  it  all,  an' 
cuttin'  all  de  woods  off  it.  He  don'  know  nuttin 
'bout  black  folks,  ain'  nuver  been  fotch  up  wid  'em. 
Who  ever  heah  he  name  'fo'  he  come  heah  an'  buy 
de  place,  an'  move  in  de  overseer  house,  an'  charge 
we  all  eight  hundred  dollars  for  dis  land,  jes  'cause 
it  got  little  piece  o'  bottom  on  it,  an'  forty-eight 

10 


146  In  Ole  Virginia. 

dollars  rent  besides,  wid  he  ole  stingy  wife  whar 
oon'  even  gi'  'way  buttermilk  !  "  An  expression  of 
mingled  disgust  and  contempt  concluded  the  reflec- 
tion. 

She  took  the  ash-cake  out  of  the  ashes,  slapped  it 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  with  her  hand, 
dusted  it  with  her  apron,  and  walked  to  the  door 
and  poured  a  gourd  of  water  from  the  piggin  over 
it.  Then  she  divided  it  in  half ;  one  half  she  set  up 
against  the  side  of  the  chimney,  the  other  she  broke 
up  into  smaller  pieces  and  distributed  among  the 
children,  dragging  the  sleeping  Eph,  limp  and 
soaked  with  sleep,  from  the  cradle  to  receive  his 
share.  Her  manner  was  not  rough — was  perhaps 
even  tender — but  she  used  no  caresses,  as  a  white 
woman  would  have  done  under  the  circumstances. 
It  was  only  toward  the  baby  at  the  breast  that  she 
exhibited  any  endearments.  Her  nearest  approach 
to  it  with  the  others  was  when  she  told  them,  as 
she  portioned  out  the  ash-cake,  "  Mammy  'ain't  got 
nuttin  else ;  but  nuver  min',  she  gwine  have  plenty 
o'  good  meat  next  year,  when  deddy  done  pay  for 
he  land." 

"  Hi !  who  dat  out  dyah  ?  "  she  said,  suddenly. 
"  Run  to  de  do',  son,  an'  see  who  dat  comin',"  and 
the  whole  tribe  rushed  to  inspect  the  new-comer. 

It  was,  as  she  suspected,  her  husband,  and  as  soon 
as  he  entered  she  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 
He  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  sat  in  moody  silence 


Olf  'Stracted.  147 

the  picture  of  fatigue,  physical  and  mental.  After 
waiting  for  some  time,  she  asked,  indifferently, 
"  What  de  matter  ?  " 

"  Dat  man." 

"  What  he  done  do  now  ?  "  The  query  was  sharp 
with  suspicion. 

"  He  say  he  ain'  gwine  let  me  have  my  land." 

"  He's  a  half-strainer,"  said  the  woman,  with  sud- 
den anger.  "  How  he  gwine  help  it  ?  Ain'  you  got 
crap  on  it  ?  "  She  felt  that  there  must  be  a  defence 
against  such  an  outrage. 

"  He  say  he  ain'  gwine  wait  no  longer  ;  dat  I  wuz 
to  have  tell  Christmas  to  finish  payin'  for  it,  an'  I 
ain'  do  it,  an'  now  he  done  change  he  min'." 

"  Tell  dis  Christmas  comin',"  said  his  wife,  with 
the  positiveness  of  one  accustomed  to  expound  con- 
tracts. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  tell  you  he  say  he  done  change  he 
min'."  The  man  had  evidently  given  up  all  hope ; 
he  was  dead  beat. 

"  De  crap's  yourn,"  said  she,  affected  by  his  sur- 
render, but  prepared  only  to  compromise. 

"  He  say  he  gwine  teck  all  dat  for  de  rent,  and  dat 
he  gwine  drive  Ole  'Stracted  'way  too. 

"  He  ain'  nuttin  but  po'  white  trash  ! "  It  ex- 
pressed her  supreme  contempt. 

"  He  say  he'll  gi'  me  jes  one  week  mo'  to  pay  him 
all  he  ax  for  it,"  continued  he,  forced  to  a  correction 
by  her  intense  feeling,  and  the  instinct  of  a  man  to 


148  In  Ole  Virginia. 

defend  the  absent  from  a  woman's  attack,  and  per- 
haps in  the  hope  that  she  might  suggest  some 
escape. 

"  He  ain'  nuttin  sep  po'  white  trash ! "  she  re- 
peated. "  How  you  gwine  raise  eight  hundred  dol- 
lars at  once  ?  Dee  kyarn  nobody  do  dat.  Gord 
mout !  He  ain'  got  good  sense." 

"  You  ain'  see  dat  corn  lately,  is  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Hit  jes  as  rank  !  You  can  almos'  see  it  growin'  ef 
you  look  at  it  good.  Dat's  strong  land.  I  know 
dat  when  I  buy  it." 

He  knew  it  was  gone  now,  but  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  calling  it  his  in  the  past  three  years,  and  it 
did  him  good  to  claim  the  ownership  a  little  longer. 

"  I  wonder  whar  Marse  Johnny  is  ?"  said  the  wo- 
man. He  was  the  son  of  her  former  owner ;  and 
now,  finding  her  proper  support  failing  her,  she  in- 
stinctively turned  to  him.  "  He  wouldn'  let  him 
turn  we  all  out." 

"  He  ain'  got  nuttin,  an'  ef  he  is,  he  kyarn  get  it 
in  a  week,"  said  Ephraim. 

"  Kyarn  you  teck  it  in  de  co't  ?  " 

"  Dat's  whar  he  say  he  gwine  have  it  ef  I  don'  git 
out,"  said  her  husband,  despairingly. 

Her  last  defence  was  gone. 

"  Ain'  you  hongry  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  What  you  got  ?  " 

11 1  jes  gwine  kill  a  chicken  for  you." 

It  was  her  nearest  approach  to  tenderness,  and  he 


Ole  'Str acted.  149 

knew  it  was  a  mark  of  special  attention,  for  all  the 
chickens  and  eggs  had  for  the  past  three  years  gone 
to  swell  the  fund  which  was  to  buy  the  home,  and 
it  was  only  on  special  occasions  that  one  was  spared 
for  food. 

The  news  that  he  was  to  be  turned  out  of  his 
home  had  fallen  on  him  like  a  blow,  and  had  stunned 
him  ;  he  could  make  no  resistance,  he  could  form 
no  plans.  He  went  into  a  rough  estimate  as  he 
waited. 

"  Le'  me  see  :  I  done  wuck  for  it  three  years  dis 
Christmas  done  gone  ;  how  much  does  dat  meek  ?" 

"  An'  fo'  dollars,  an'  five  dollars,  an'  two  dollars 
an'  a  half  last  Christmas  from  de  chickens,  an'  all 
dem  ducks  I  done  sell  he  wife,  an'  de  washin'  I  been 
doin'  for  'em  ;  how  much  is  dat  ?  "  supplemented 
his  wife. 

"  Dat's  what  I  say  !  " 

His  wife  endeavored  vainly  to  remember  the 
amount  she  had  been  told  it  was ;  but  the  unac- 
counted-for washing  changed  the  sum  and  destroyed 
her  reliance  on  the  result.  And  as  the  chicken  was 
now  approaching  perfection,  and  required  her  undi- 
vided attention,  she  gave  up  the  arithmetic  and  ap- 
plied herself  to  her  culinary  duties. 

Ephraim  also  abandoned  the  attempt,  and  waited 
in  a  reverie,  in  which  he  saw  corn  stand  so  high  and 
rank  over  his  land  that  he  could  scarcely  distinguish 
the  balk,  and  a  stable  and  barn  and  a  mule,  or  may- 


150  /;/  Ole  Virginia. 

be  two — it  was  a  possibility — and  two  cows  which 
his  wife  would  milk,  and  a  green  wagon  driven  by 
his  boys,  while  he  took  it  easy  and  gave  orders  like 
a  master,  and  a  clover  patch,  and  wheat,  and  he  saw 
the  yellow  grain  waving,  and  heard  his  sons  sing 
the  old  harvest  song  of  "  Cool  Water  "  while  they 
swung  their  cradles,  and — 

"You  say  he  gwine  turn  Ole  'Stracted  out,  too?" 
inquired  his  wife,  breaking  the  spell.  The  chicken 
was  done  now,  and  her  mind  reverted  to  the  all- 
engrossing  subject. 

"  Yes  ;  say  he  tired  o'  ole  'stracted  nigger  livin'  on 
he  place  an'  payin'  no  rent." 

"  Good  Gord  A'mighty  !  Pay  rent  for  dat  ole  pile 
o*  logs  !  Ain't  he  been  mendin'  he  shoes  an'  har- 
ness for  rent  all  dese  years  ?  " 

"  'Twill  kill  dat  ole  man  to  tu'n  him  out  dat 
house,"  said  Ephraim  ;  "  he  ain'  nuver  stay  away 
from  dyah  a  hour  sence  he  come  heah." 

"  Sutny  'twill,"  assented  his  wife  ;  then  she  added, 
in  reply  to  the  rest  of  the  remark,  "  Nuver  min';  den 
we'll  see  what  he  got  in  dyah."  To  a  woman,  that 
was  at  least  some  compensation.  Ephraim's 
thoughts  had  taken  a  new  direction. 

"  He  al'ays  feared  he  marster  'd  come  for  him 
while  he  'way,"  he  said,  in  mere  continuance  of  his 
last  remark. 

"  He  sen'  me  wud  he  marster  comin'  to-night,  an' 
he  want  he  shut,"  said  his  wife,  as  she  handed  him 


Ole  'Str acted.  151 

his  supper.  Ephraim's  face  expressed  more  than  in- 
terest;  it  was  tenderness  which  softened  the  rugged 
lines  as  he  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  Perhaps  he 
thought  of  the  old  man's  loneliness,  and  of  his  own 
father  torn  away  and  sold  so  long  ago,  before  he 
could  even  remember,  and  perhaps  very  dimly  of  the 
beauty  of  the  sublime  devotion  of  this  poor  old 
creature  to  his  love  and  his  trust,  holding  steadfast 
beyond  memory,  beyond  reason,  after  the  knowl- 
edge even  of  his  own  identity  and  of  his  very  name 
was  lost. 

The  woman  caught  the  contagion  of  his  sym- 
pathy. 

"  De  chil'n  say  he  mighty  comical,  an'  he  layin' 
down  in  de  baid,  '  she  said. 

Ephraim  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  Whar  you  gwine  ?  " 

"  I  mus'  go  to  see  'bout  him,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  Ain'  you  gwine  finish  eatin'  ?  " 

"  I  gwine  kyar  dis  to  him." 

"  Well,  I  kin  cook  you  anurr  when  we  come  back," 
said  his  wife,  with  ready  acquiescence. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  the  way,  going 
single  file  down  the  path  through  the  sassafras,  along 
which  little  Eph  and  his  followers  had  come  an  hour 
before,  the  man  in  the  lead  and  his  wife  following, 
and,  according  to  the  custom  of  their  race,  carrying 
the  bundles,  one  the  surrendered  supper  and  the  other 
the  neatly  folded  and  well-patched  shirt  in  which 


152  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Ole  'Stracted  hoped  to  meet  his  long-expected  loved 
ones. 

As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  ruinous  little  hut 
which  had  been  the  old  man's  abode  since  his  sudden 
appearance  in  the  neighborhood  a  few  years  after 
the  war,  they  observed  that  the  bench  beside  the 
door  was  deserted,  and  that  the  door  stood  ajar — 
two  circumstances  which  neither  of  them  remem- 
bered ever  to  have  seen  before ;  for  in  all  the  years 
in  which  he  had  been  their  neighbor  Ole  'Stracted 
had  never  admitted  any  one  within  his  door,  and  had 
never  been  known  to  leave  it  open.  In  mild  weather 
he  occupied  a  bench  outside,  where  he  either  cobbled 
shoes  for  his  neighbors,  accepting  without  question 
anything  they  paid  him,  or  else  sat  perfectly  quiet, 
with  the  air  of  a  person  waiting  for  some  one.  He 
held  only  the  briefest  communication  with  anybody, 
and  was  believed  by  some  to  have  intimate  relations 
with  the  Evil  One,  and  his  tumble-down  hut,  which 
he  was  particular  to  keep  closely  daubed,  was 
thought  by  such  as  took  this  view  of  the  matter  to 
be  the  temple  where  he  practised  his  unholy  rites. 
For  this  reason,  and  because  the  little  cabin,  sur- 
rounded by  dense  pines  and  covered  with  vines 
which  the  popular  belief  held  "  pizonous,"  was  the 
most  desolate  abode  a  human  being  could  have  se- 
lected, most:  of  the  dwellers  in  that  section  gave  the 
place  a  wide  berth,  especially  toward  nightfall,  and 
Ole  'Stracted  would  probably  have  suffered  but  for 


Ole  'Str acted.  153 

the  charity  of  Ephraim  and  his  wife,  who,  although 
often  wanting  the  necessaries  of  life  themselves,  had 
long  divided  it  with  their  strange  neighbor.  Yet 
even  they  had  never  been  admitted  inside  his  door, 
and  knew  no  more  of  him  than  the  other  people 
about  the  settlement  knew. 

His  advent  in  the  neighborhood  had  been  mys- 
terious. The  first  that  was  known  of  him  was  one 
summer  morning,  when  he  was  found  sitting  on  the 
bench  beside  the  door  of  this  cabin,  which  had  long 
been  unoccupied  and  left  to  decay.  He  was  unable 
to  give  any  account  of  himself,  except  that  he  al- 
ways declared  that  he  had  been  sold  by  some  one 
other  than  his  master  from  that  plantation,  that  his 
wife  and  boy  had  been  sold  to  some  other  person  at 
the  same  time  for  twelve  hundred  dollars  (he  was 
particular  as  to  the  amount),  and  that  his  master 
was  coming  in  the  summer  to  buy  him  back  and 
take  him  home,  and  would  bring  him  his  wife  and 
child  when  he  came.  Everything  since  that  day 
was  a  blank  to  him,  and  as  he  could  not  tell  the 
name  of  his  master  or  wife,  or  even  his  own  name, 
and  as  no  one  was  left  old  enough  to  remember  him, 
the  neighborhood  having  been  entirely  deserted  after 
the  war,  he  simply  passed  as  a  harmless  old  lunatic 
laboring  under  a  delusion.  He  was  devoted  to  chil- 
dren, and  Ephraim's  small  brood  were  his  chief  de- 
light. They  were  not  at  all  afraid  of  him,  and 
whenever  they  got  a  chance  they  would  slip  off  and 


154  /»  Ole  Virginia. 

steal  down  to  his  house,  where  they  might  be  found 
any  time  squatting  about  his  feet,  listening  to  his 
accounts  of  his  expected  visit  from  his  master,  and 
what  he  was  going  to  do  afterward.  It  was  all  of  a 
great  plantation,  and  fine  carriages  and  horses,  and 
a  house  with  his  wife  and  the  boy. 

This  was  all  that  was  known  of  him,  except  that 
once  a  stranger,  passing  through  the  country,  and 
hearing  the  name  Ole  'Stracted,  said  that  he  heard  a 
similar  one  once,  long  before  the  war,  in  one  of  the 
Louisiana  parishes,  where  the  man  roamed  at  will, 
having  been  bought  of  the  trader  by  the  gentleman 
who  owned  him,  for  a  small  price,  on  account  of  his 
infirmity. 

"Is  you  gwine  in  dyah?"  asked  the  woman,  as 
they  approached  the  hut. 

"  Hi !  yes ;  'tain'  nuttin'  gwine  hu't  you  ;  an'  you 
say  Ephum  say  he  layin'  in  de  baid  ? "  he  replied, 
his  mind  having  evidently  been  busy  on  the  subject. 

"  An'  mighty  comical,"  she  corrected  him,  with 
exactness  born  of  apprehension. 

"Well?     I  'feared  he  sick." 

"  I  ain'  nuver  been  in  dyah,"  she  persisted. 

"  Ain'  de  chil'n  been  in  dyah  ?  " 

"  Dee  say  'stracted  folks  oon  hu't  chil'n." 

"  Dat  ole  man  oon  hu't  nobody ;  he  jes  tame  as 
a  ole  tomcat." 

"  I  wonder  he  ain'  feared  to  live  in  dat  lonesome 
ole  house  by  hisself.  I  jes  lieve  stay  in  a  graveyard 


Ole  'Str acted.  155 

at  once.  I  ain'  wonder  folks  say  he  sees  sperrits  in 
dat  hanty-lookin'  place."  She  came  up  by  her  hus- 
band's side  at  the  suggestion.  "  I  wonder  he  don' 
go  home? " 

"  Whar  he  got  any  home  to  go  to  sep  heaven  ?  " 
said  Ephraim. 

"  What  was  you  mammy  name,  Ephum?" 

"  Mymy,"  said  he,  simply. 

They  were  at  the  cabin  now,  and  a  brief  pause  of 
doubt  ensued.  It  was  perfectly  dark  inside  the 
door,  and  there  was  not  a  sound.  The  bench  where 
they  had  heretofore  held  their  only  communication 
with  their  strange  neighbor  was  lying  on  its  side  in 
the  weeds  which  grew  up  to  the  very  walls  of  the 
ruinous  cabin,  and  a  lizard  suddenly  ran  over  it,  and 
with  a  little  rustle  disappeared  under  the  rotting 
ground-sill.  To  the  woman  it  was  an  ill  omen.  She 
glanced  furtively  behind  her,  and  moved  nearer  her 
husband's  side.  She  noticed  that  the  cloud  above 
the  pines  was  getting  a  faint  yellow  tinge  on  its 
lower  border,  while  it  was  very  black  above  them. 
It  filled  her  with  dread,  and  she  was  about  to  call 
her  husband's  notice  to  it,  when  a  voice  within  ar- 
rested their  attention.  It  was  very  low,  and  they 
both  listened  in  awed  silence,  watching  the  door 
meanwhile  as  if  they  expected  to  see  something  su- 
pernatural spring  from  it. 

"  Nem  min' — jes  wait — 'tain*  so  long  now — he'll 
be  heah  torectly,"  said  the  voice.  "  Dat's  what  he 


156  In  Ole  Virginia. 

say — gwine  come  an'  buy  me  back — den  we  gwine 
home." 

In  their  endeavor  to  catch  the  words  they  moved 
nearer,  and  made  a  slight  noise.  Suddenly  the  low, 
earnest  tone  changed  to  one  full  of  eagerness. 

"  Who  dat  ?  "  was  called  in  sharp  inquiry. 

"  Tain'  nobody  but  me  an'  Polly,  Ole  'Stracted," 
said  Ephraim,  pushing  the  door  slightly  wider  open 
and  stepping  in.  They  had  an  indistinct  idea  that 
the  poor  deluded  creature  had  fancied  them  his 
longed-for  loved  ones,  yet  it  was  a  relief  to  see  him 
bodily. 

"  Who  you  say  you  is  ?  "  inquired  the  old  man, 
feebly. 

"  Me  an'  Polly." 

"  I  done  bring  you  shut  home,"  said  the  woman, 
as  if  supplementing  her  husband's  reply.  "Hit  all 
bran'  clean,  an'  I  done  patch  it." 

"  Oh,  I  thought — "  said  the  voice,  sadly. 

They  knew  what  he  thought.  Their  eyes  were 
now  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  they  saw  that 
the  only  article  of  furniture  which  the  room  con- 
tained was  the  wretched  bed  or  bench  on  which  the 
old  man  was  stretched.  The  light  sifting  through 
the  chinks  in  the  roof  enabled  them  to  see  his  face, 
and  that  it  had  changed  much  in  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  an  instinct  told  them  that  he  was 
near  the  end  of  his  long  waiting. 
••"  How  is  you,  Ole  'Stracted?"  asked  the  woman. 


Ole  'Stracted.  157 

"  Dat  ain'  my  name,"  answered  the  old  man, 
promptly.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  dis- 
owned the  name. 

"  Well,  how  is  you,  Ole —  What  I  gwine  to  call 
you  ?  "  asked  she,  with  feeble  finesse. 

"  I  don'  know — he  kin  tell  you." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"Who?  Marster.  He  know  it.  Ole  'Stracted 
ain'  know  it ;  but  dat  ain'  nuttin.  He  know  it — got 
it  set  down  in  de  book.  I  jes  waitin'  for  'em  now." 

A  hush  fell  on  the  little  audience — they  were  in 
full  sympathy  with  him,  and  knowing  no  way  of  ex- 
pressing it,  kept  silence.  Only  the  breathing  of  the 
old  man  was  audible  in  the  room.  He  was  evidently 
nearing  the  end.  "  I  mighty  tired  of  waitin', "  he 
said,  pathetically.  "  Look  out  dyah  and  see  ef  you 
see  anybody,"  he  added,  suddenly. 

Both  of  them  obeyed,  and  then  returned  and  stood 
silent ;  they  could  not  tell  him  no. 

Presently  the  woman  said,  "  Don'  you  warn  put 
you'  shut  on  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  my  name  was  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Ole  'Str — "  She  paused  at  the  look  of  pain  on 
his  face,  shifted  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
and  relapsed  into  embarrassed  silence. 

"  Nem  min' !  dee'll  know  it — dee'll  know  me  'dout 
any  name,  oon  dee  ? "  He  appealed  wistfully  to 
them  both.  The  woman  for  answer  unfolded  the 
shirt.  He  moved  feebly,  as  if  in  assent. 


158  In  Ole   Virginia. 

"  I  so  tired  waitin',"  he  whispered ;  "  done  'mos* 
gin  out,  an'  he  oon  come  ;  but  I  thought  I  heah 
little  Eph  to-day  ?  "  There  was  a  faint  inquiry  in  his 
voice. 

"  Yes,  he  wuz  heah." 

"  Wuz  he  ?  "  The  languid  form  became  instantly 
alert,  the  tired  face  took  on  a  look  of  eager  expect- 
ancy. "  Heah,  gi'  m'y  shut  quick.  I  knowed  it. 
Wait ;  go  over  dyah,  son,  and  git  me  dat  money. 
He'll  be  heah  torectly."  They  thought  his  mind 
wandered,  and  merely  followed  the  direction  of  his 
eyes  with  theirs.  "  Go  over  dyah  quick — don't  you 
heah  me  ?  " 

And  to  humor  him  Ephraim  went  over  to  the 
corner  indicated. 

"  Retch  up  dyah,  an'  run  you'  hand  in  onder  de 
second  jice.  It's  all  in  dyah,"  he  said  to  the  woman 
— "  twelve  hunderd  dollars — dat's  what  dee  went 
for.  I  wucked  night  an'  day  forty  year  to  save  dat 
money  for  marster ;  you  know  dee  teck  all  he  land 
an'  all  he  niggers  an'  tu'n  him  out  in  de  old  fiel*  ?  I 
put  'tin  dyah  'ginst  he  come.  You  ain'  know  he 
comin'  dis  evenin',  is  you  ?  Heah,  help  me  on  wid 
dat  shut,  gal — I  stan'in'  heah  talkin'  an'  maybe  ole 
marster  waitin'.  Push  de  do'  open  so  you  kin  see. 
Forty  year  ago,"  he  murmured,  as  Polly  jambed  the 
door  back  and  returned  to  his  side — "  forty  year  ago 
dee  come  an'  levelled  on  me  :  marster  sutny  did  cry. 
'  Nem  min','  he  said,  '  I  comin'  right  down  in  de 


Ole  "Sir acted.  159 

summer  to  buy  you  back  an'  bring  you  home/  He's 
comin',  too — nuver  tol'  me  a  lie  in  he  life — comin' 
dis  evenin'.  Make  'aste."  This  in  tremulous  eager- 
ness to  the  woman,  who  had  involuntarily  caught 
the  feeling,  and  was  now  with  eager  and  ineffectual 
haste  trying  to  button  his  shirt. 

An  exclamation  from  her  husband  caused  her  to 
turn  around,  as  he  stepped  into  the  light  and  held 
up  an  old  sock  filled  with  something. 

"  Heah,  hoi'  you'  apron,"  said  the  old  man  to 
Polly,  who  gathered  up  the  lower  corners  of  her 
apron  and  stood  nearer  the  bed. 

"  Po'  it  in  dyah."  This  to  Ephraim,  who  mechan- 
ically obeyed.  He  pulled  off  the  string,  and  poured 
into  his  wife's  lap  the  heap  of  glittering  coin — gold 
and  silver  more  than  their  eyes  had  ever  seen  before. 

"  Hit's  all  dyah,"  said  the  old  man,  confidentially, 
as  if  he  were  rendering  an  account.  "  I  been  savin' 
it  ever  sence  dee  took  me  'way.  I  so  busy  savin'  it 
I  ain'  had  time  to  eat,  but  I  ain'  hongry  now ;  have 
plenty  when  I  git  home."  He  sank  back  exhausted. 
"  Oon  marster  be  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked,  pres- 
ently, in  pathetic  simplicity.  "  You  know  we  growed 
up  togerr  ?  I  been  waitin'  so  long  I  'feared  dee 
'mos'  done  forgit  me.  You  reckon  dee  is?"  he 
asked  the  woman,  appealingly. 

"  No,  suh,  dee  ain'  forgit  you,"  she  said,  comfort 
ingly. 

"  I  know  dee   ain',"  he  said,  reassured.     "  Dat'g 


160  In  Ole  Virginia. 

what  he  tell  me — he  ain'  nuver  gwine  forgit  me.'* 
The  reaction  had  set  in,  and  his  voice  was  so  feeble 
now  it  was  scarcely  audible.  He  was  talking  rather 
to  himself  than  to  them,  and  finally  he  sank  into  a 
doze.  A  painful  silence  reigned  in  the  little  hut,  in 
which  the  only  sign  was  the  breathing  of  the  dying 
man.  A  single  shaft  of  light  stole  down  under  the 
edge  of  the  slowly  passing  cloud  and  slipped  up  to 
the  door.  Suddenly  the  sleeper  waked  with  a  start, 
and  gazed  around. 

"  Hit  gittin'  mighty  dark,"  he  whispered,  faintly. 
"  You  reckon  dee'll  git  heah  'fo'  dark  ?  " 

The  light  was  dying  from  his  eyes. 

"  Ephum,"  said  the  woman,  softly,  to  her  hus- 
band. 

The  effect  was  electrical. 

"  Heish  !  you  heah  dat ! '  exclaimed  the  dying 
man,  eagerly. 

"  Ephum  " — she  repeated.  The  rest  was  drowned 
by  Ole  'Stracted's  joyous  exclamation. 

"  Gord !  I  knowed  it !  "  he  cried,  suddenly  rising 
upright,  and,  with  beaming  face,  stretching  both 
arms  toward  the  door.  "  Dyah  dee  come !  Now 
watch  'em  smile.  All  y'all  jes  stand  back.  Heah 
de  one  you  lookin'  for.  Marster — Mymy — heah's 
Little  Ephum  !  "  And  with  a  smile  on  his  face  he 
sank  back  into  his  son's  arms. 

The  evening  sun,  dropping  on  the  instant  to  his 
setting,  flooded  the  room  with  light ;  but  as  Ephraim 


Ole  'Str acted.  161 

gently  eased  him  down  and  drew  his  arm  from 
around  him,  it  was  the  light  of  the  unending  morn- 
ing that  was  on  his  face.  His  Master  had  at  last 
come  for  him,  and  after  his  long  waiting,  Ole 
'Stracted  had  indeed  gone  home, 
ii 


"NO  HAID  PAWN." 

IT  was  a  ghostly  place  in  broad  daylight,  if  the 
glimmer  that  stole  in  through  the  dense  forest 
that  surrounded  it  when  the  sun  was  directly  over- 
head deserved  this  delusive  name.  At  any  other 
time  it  was — why,  we  were  afraid  even  to  talk  about 
it !  and  as  to  venturing  within  its  gloomy  borders,  it 
was  currently  believed  among  us  that  to  do  so  was 
to  bring  upon  the  intruder  certain  death.  I  knew 
every  foot  of  ground,  wet  and  dry,  within  five  miles 
of  my  father's  house,  except  this  plantation,  for  I  had 
hunted  by  day  and  night  every  field,  forest,  and  marsh 
within  that  radius  ;  but  the  swamp  and  "  ma'shes  " 
that  surrounded  this  place  I  had  never  invaded.  The 
boldest  hunter  on  the  plantation  would  call  off  his 
dogs  and  go  home  if  they  struck  a  trail  that  crossed 
the  sobby  boundary-line  of  "  No  Raid  Pawn." 

"  Jack  'my  lanterns  "  and  "  evil  sperits  "  only  in- 
fested those  woods,  and  the  earnest  advice  of  those 
whom  we  children  acknowledged  to  know  most 
about  them  was,  "  Don't  you  never  go  nigh  dyah, 
honey ;  hit's  de  evil-speritest  place  in  dis  wull." 

Had  not  Big  William  and  Cephas  and  Poliam  fol- 
lowed their  dogs  in  there  one  night,  and  cut  down 


"No  Haid  Pawn."  163 

a  tree  in  which  they  had  with  their  own  eyes  seen 
the  coon,  and  lo  !  when  it  fell  "  de  warn  no  mo'  coon 
dyah  'n  a  dog !  "  and  the  next  tree  they  had  "  treed 
in  "  not  only  had  no  coon  in  it,  but  when  it  was  cut 
down  it  had  fallen  on  Poliam  and  broken  his  leg. 
So  the  very  woods  were  haunted.  From  this  time 
they  were  abandoned  to  the  "  jack  'my  lanterns " 
and  ghosts,  and  another  shadow  was  added  to  No 
Haid  Pawn. 

The  place  was  as  much  cut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  country  as  if  a  sea  had  divided  it.  The  river, 
with  marshy  banks,  swept  around  it  in  a  wide  horse- 
shoe on  three  sides,  and  when  the  hammocks  dammed 
it  up  it  washed  its  way  straight  across  and  scoured 
out  a  new  bed  for  itself,  completely  isolating  the 
whole  plantation. 

The  owners  of  it,  if  there  were  any,  which  was 
doubtful,  were  aliens,  and  in  my  time  it  had  not 
been  occupied  for  forty  years.  The  negroes  de- 
clared that  it  was  "  gin  up  "  to  the  "  ha'nts  an'  evil 
sperits,"  and  that  no  living  being  could  live  there. 
It  had  grown  up  in  forest  and  had  wholly  reverted 
to  original  marsh.  The  road  that  once  ran  through 
the  swamp  had  long  since  been  choked  up,  and  the 
trees  were  as  thick  and  the  jungle  as  dense  now,  in 
its  track,  as  in  the  adjacent  "ma'sh."'  Only  one 
path  remained.  That,  it  was  currently  believed  by 
the  entire  portion  of  the  population  who  speculated 
on  the  subject,  was  kept  open  by  the  evil  spirits. 


164  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Certain  it  was  that  no  human  foot  ever  trod  the 
narrow,  tortuous  line  that  ran  through  the  brakes  as 
deviously  as  the  noiseless,  stagnant  ditches  that 
curved  through  the  jungle,  where  the  musk-rats 
played  and  the  moccasin  slept  unmolested.  Yet 
there  it  lay,  plain  and  well-defined,  month  after 
month  and  year  after  year,  as  No  Haid  Pawn  itself 
stood,  amid  its  surrounding  swamps,  all  undisturbed 
and  unchanging. 

Even  the  runaway  slaves  who  occasionally  left 
their  homes  and  took  to  the  swamps  and  woods, 
impelled  by  the  cruelty  of  their  overseers,  or  by  a 
desire  for  a  vain  counterfeit  of  freedom,  never  tried 
this  swamp,  but  preferred  to  be  caught  and  returned 
home  to  invading  its  awful  shades. 

We  were  brought  up  to  believe  in  ghosts.  Our 
fathers  and  mothers  laughed  at  us,  and  endeavored 
to  reason  us  out  of  such  a  superstition — the  fathers 
with  much  of  ridicule  and  satire,  the  mothers  giving 
sweet  religious  reasons  for  their  argument — but  what 
could  they  avail  against  the  actual  testimony  and  the 
blood-curdling  experiences  of  a  score  of  witnesses, 
who  recounted  their  personal  observations  with  a 
degree  of  thrilling  realism  and  a  vividness  that  over- 
bore any  arguments  our  childish  reason  could  grasp  ! 
The  old  mammies  and  uncles  who  were  our  compan- 
ions and  comrades  believed  in  the  existence  of  evil 
spirits  as  truly  as  in  the  existence  of  hell  or  heaven, 
as  to  which  at  that  time  no  question  had  ever  been 


"  No  Haid  Pawn."  165 

raised,  so  far  as  was  known,  in  that  slumberous 
world.  [The  Bible  was  the  standard,  and  all  dis- 
putes were  resolved  into  an  appeal  to  that  authority, 
the  single  question  as  to  any  point  being  simply, 
"  Is  it  in  the  Bible  ?  "]  Had  not  Lazarus,  and  Mam' 
Celia,  and  William,  and  Twis'-foot-Bob,  and  Aunt 
Sukie  Brown,  and  others  seen  with  their  own  eyes 
the  evil  spirits,  again  and  again,  in  the  bodily  shape 
of  cats,  headless  dogs,  white  cows,  and  other  less 
palpable  forms  !  And  was  not  their  experience,  who 
lived  in  remote  cabins,  or  wandered  night  after 
night  through  the  loneliest  woods,  stronger  evidence 
than  the  cold  reasoning  of  those  who  hardly  ever 
stirred  abroad  except  in  daylight  ?  It  certainly  was 
more  conclusive  to  us ;  for  no  one  could  have  list- 
ened to  those  narrators  without  being  impressed 
with  the  fact  that  they  were  recounting  what  they 
had  actually  seen  with  their  bodily  eyes.  The 
result  of  it  all  was,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned,  the 
triumph  of  faith  over  reason,  and  the  fixed  belief,  on 
our  part,  in  the  actual  visible  existence  of  the  de- 
parted, in  the  sinister  form  of  apparition  known  as 
"  evil  sperits."  Every  graveyard  was  tenanted  by 
them  ;  every  old  house  and  every  peculiarly  deso- 
late spot  was  known  to  be  their  rendezvous ;  but 
all  spots  and  places  sank  into  insignificance  com- 
pared with  No  Haid  Pawn. 

The  very  name  was  uncanny.     Originally  it  had 
designated  a  long,  stagnant  pool  of  water  lying  in 


1 66  In  Ole  Virginia. 

the  centre  of  the  tract,  which  marked  the  spot  from 
which  the  soil  had  been  dug  to  raise  the  elevation 
on  which  to  set  the  house.  More  modernly  the 
place,  by  reason  of  the  filling  up  of  ditches  and  the 
sinking  of  dikes,  had  become  again  simple  swamp 
and  jungle,  or,  to  use  the  local  expression,  "  had 
turned  to  ma'sh,"  and  the  name  applied  to  the  whole 
plantation. 

The  origin  of  the  name  ?  the  pond  had  no  source  ; 
but  there  was  a  better  explanation  than  that.  Any- 
how, the  very  name  inspired  dread,  and  the  place 
was  our  terror. 

The  house  had  been  built  many  generations  before 
by  a  stranger  in  this  section,  and  the  owners  never 
made  it  their  permanent  home.  Thus,  no  ties  either 
of  blood  or  friendship  were  formed  with  their  neigh- 
bors, who  were  certainly  open-hearted  and  open- 
doored  enough  to  overcome  anything  but  the  most 
persistent  unneighborliness.  Why  this  spot  was 
selected  for  a  mansion  was  always  a  mystery,  unless 
it  was  that  the  new-comer  desired  to  isolate  himself 
completely.  Instead  of  following  the  custom  of 
those  who  were  native  and  to  the  manner  born,  who 
always  chose  some  eminence  for  their  seats,  he  had 
selected  for  his  a  spot  in  the  middle  of  the  wide  flat 
which  lay  in  the  horseshoe  of  the  river.  The  low 
ground,  probably  owing  to  the  abundance  of  land  in 
that  country,  had  never  been  "  taken  up,"  and  up  to 
the  time  of  his  occupation  was  in  a  condition  of 


"No  Haid  Pawn."  167 

primeval  swamp.  He  had  to  begin  by  making  an 
artificial  mound  for  his  mansion.  Even  then,  it  was 
said,  he  dug  so  deep  that  he  laid  the  corner-stone  in 
water.  The  foundation  was  of  stone,  which  was 
brought  from  a  distance.  Fabulous  stories  were 
told  of  it.  The  negroes  declared  that  under  the  old 
house  were  solid  rock  chambers,  which  had  been 
built  for  dungeons,  and  had  served  for  purposes 
which  were  none  the  less  awful  because  they  were 
vague  and  indefinite.  The  huge  structure  itself  was 
of  wood,  and  was  alleged  to  contain  many  mysteri- 
ous rooms  and  underground  passages.  One  of  the 
latter  was  said  to  connect  with  the  No  Haid  Pawn 
itself,  whose  dark  waters,  according  to  the  negroes' 
traditions,  were  some  day,  by  some  process  not  wholly 
consistent  with  the  laws  of  physics,  to  overwhelm 
the  fated  pile.  An  evil  destiny  had  seemed  to  over- 
shadow the  place  from  the  very  beginning.  One  of 
the  negro  builders  had  been  caught  and  decapitated 
between  two  of  the  immense  foundation  stones. 
The  tradition  was  handed  down  that  he  was  sacri- 
ficed in  some  awful  and  occult  rite  connected  with 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone.  The  scaffolding  had 
given  way  and  had  precipitated  several  men  to  the 
ground,  most  of  whom  had  been  fatally  hurt.  This 
also  was  alleged  to  be  by  hideous  design.  Then  the 
plantation,  in  the  process  of  being  reclaimed,  had 
proved  unhealthy  beyond  all  experience,  and  the 
negroes  employed  in  the  work  of  diking  and  re- 


1 68  In  Ole  Virginia. 

claiming  the  great  swamp  had  sickened  and  died  by 
dozens.  The  extension  of  the  dangerous  fever  to 
the  adjoining  plantations  had  left  a  reputation  for 
typhus  malaria  from  which  the  whole  section  suf- 
fered for  a  time.  But  this  did  not  prevent  the  col- 
ored population  from  recounting  year  after  year 
the  horrors  of  the  pestilence  of  No  Raid  Pawn  as  a 
peculiar  visitation,  nor  from  relating  with  blood- 
curdling details  the  burial  by  scores,  in  a  thicket  just 
beside  the  pond,  of  the  stricken  "  befo'  dee  daid, 
honey,  befo'  dee  daid  1 '"  The  bodies,  it  was  said, 
used  to  float  about  in  the  guts  of  the  swamp  and  on 
the  haunted  pond  ;  and  at  night  they  might  be  seen, 
if  any  one  were  so  hardy  as  to  venture  there,  rowing 
about  in  their  coffins  as  if  they  were  boats. 

Thus  the  place  from  the  beginning  had  an  evil 
name,  and  when,  year  after  year,  the  river  rose  and 
washed  the  levees  away,  or  the  musk-rats  burrowed 
through  and  let  the  water  in,  and  the  strange  mas- 
ters cursed  not  only  the  elements  but  Heaven  itself, 
the  continued  mortality  of  their  negroes  was  not 
wholly  unexpected  nor  unaccounted  for  by  certain 
classes  of  their  neighbors. 

At  length  the  property  had  fallen  to  one  more 
gloomy,  more  strange,  and  more  sinister  than  any 
who  had  gone  before  him — a  man  whose  personal 
characteristics  and  habits  were  unique  in  that  coun- 
try. He  was  of  gigantic  stature  and  superhuman 
strength,  and  possessed  appetites  and  vices  in  pro- 


"  No  Haid  Pawn"  169 

portion  to  his  size.  He  could  fell  an  ox  with  a 
blow  of  his  fist,  or  in  a  fit  of  anger  could  tear  down 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  or  bend  a  bar  of  iron  like  a 
reed.  He,  either  from  caprice  or  ignorance,  spoke 
only  a  patois  not  unlike  the  Creole  French  of  the 
Louisiana  parishes.  But  he  was  a  West  Indian. 
His  brutal  temper  and  habits  cut  him  off  from  even 
the  small  measure  of  intercourse  which  had  existed 
between  his  predecessors  and  their  neighbors,  and 
he  lived  at  No  Haid  Pawn  completely  isolated.  All 
the  stories  and  traditions  of  the  place  at  once  cen- 
tred on  him,  and  fabulous  tales  were  told  of  his 
prowess  and  of  his  life.  It  was  said,  among  other 
things,  that  he  preserved  his  wonderful  strength  by 
drinking  human  blood,  a  tale  which  in  a  certain 
sense  I  have  never  seen  reason  to  question.  Mak- 
ing all  allowances,  his  life  was  a  blot  upon  civiliza- 
tion. At  length  it  culminated.  A  brutal  temper, 
inflamed  by  unbridled  passions,  after  a  long  period 
of  license  and  debauchery  came  to  a  climax  in  a 
final  orgy  of  ferocity  and  fury,  in  which  he  was 
guilty  of  an  act  whose  fiendishness  surpassed  belief, 
and  he  was  brought  to  judgment. 

In  modern  times  the  very  inhumanity  of  the 
crime  would  probably  have  proved  his  security,  and 
as  he  had  destroyed  his  own  property  while  he  was 
perpetrating  a  crime  of  appalling  and  unparalleled 
horror,  he  might  have  found  a  defence  in  that  stand- 
ing refuge  of  extraordinary  scoundrelism — insanity. 


170  In  Ole  Virginia. 

This  defence,  indeed,  was  put  in,  and  was  pressed 
with  much  ability  by  his  counsel,  one  of  whom  was 
my  father,  who  had  just  then  been  admitted  to  the 
bar;  but,  fortunately  for  the  cause  of  justice,  neither 
courts  nor  juries  were  then  so  sentimental  as  they 
have  become  of  late  years,  and  the  last  occupant  of 
No  Raid  Pawn  paid  under  the  law  the  full  penalty 
of  his  hideous  crime.  It  was  one  of  the  curious  in- 
cidents of  the  trial  that  his  negroes  all  lamented  his 
death,  and  declared  that  he  was  a  good  master  when 
he  was  not  drunk.  He  was  hanged  just  at  the  rear 
of  his  own  house,  within  sight  of  the  spot  where  his 
awful  crime  was  committed. 

At  his  execution,  which,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  country,  was  public,  a  horrible  coincidence 
occurred  which  furnished  the  text  of  many  a  ser- 
mon on  retributive  justice  among  the  negroes. 

The  body  was  interred  near  the  pond,  close  by 
the  thicket  where  the  negroes  were  buried  ;  but  the 
negroes  declared  that  it  preferred  one  of  the  stone 
chambers  under  the  mansion,  where  it  made  its 
home,  and  that  it  might  be  seen  at  any  time  of  the 
day  or  night  stalking  headless  about  the  place. 
They  used  to  dwell  with  peculiar  zest  on  the  most 
agonizing  details  of  this  wretch's  dreadful  crime, 
the  whole  culminating  in  the  final  act  of  maniacal 
fury,  when  the  gigantic  monster  dragged  the  hacked 
and  headless  corpse  of  his  victim  up  the  staircase 
and  stood  it  up  before  the  open  window  in  his  hall, 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  171 

in  the  full  view  of  the  terrified  slaves.  After  these 
narrations,  the  continued  reappearance  of  the  mur- 
derer and  his  headless  victim  was  as  natural  to  us 
as  it  was  to  the  negroes  themselves ;  and,  as  night 
after  night  we  would  hurry  up  to  the  great  house 
through  the  darkness,  we  were  ever  on  the  watch 
lest  he  should  appear  to  our  frighted  vision  from 
the  shades  of  the  shrubbery-filled  yard. 

Thus  it  was  that  of  all  ghostly  places  No  Haid 
Pawn  had  the  distinction  of  being  invested,  to  us, 
with  unparalleled  horror ;  and  thus  to  us,  no  less 
than  because  the  dikes  had  given  way  and  the 
overflowed  flats  had  turned  again  to  swamp  and 
jungle,  it  was  explicable  that  No  Haid  Pawn  was 
abandoned,  and  was  now  untrodden  by  any  foot  but 
that  of  its  ghostly  tenants. 

The  time  of  my  story  was  185-.  The  spring  pre- 
vious continuous  rains  had  kept  the  river  full,  and 
had  flooded  the  low  grounds,  and  this  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  an  exceptionally  dense  growth  in  the  sum- 
mer. Then,  public  feeling  was  greatly  excited  at 
the  time  of  which  I  write,  over  the  discovery  in  the 
neighborhood  of  several  emissaries  of  the  under- 
ground railway,  or — as  they  were  universally  con- 
sidered in  that  country — of  the  devil.  They  had 
been  run  off  or  had  disappeared  suddenly,  but  had 
left  behind  them  some  little  excitement  on  the  part 
of  the  slaves,  and  a  great  deal  on  the  part  of  their 
masters,  and  more  than  the  usual  number  of  ne- 


172  In  Ole  Virginia. 

groes  had  run  away.  All,  however,  had  been 
caught,  or  had  returned  home  after  a  sufficient  in- 
terval of  freedom,  except  one  who  had  escaped  per- 
manently, and  who  was  supposed  to  have  accom- 
panied his  instigators  on  their  flight. 

This  man  was  a  well-known  character.  He  be- 
longed to  one  of  our  neighbors,  and  had  been 
bought  and  brought  there  from  an  estate  on  the 
Lower  Mississippi.  He  was  the  most  brutal  negro 
I  ever  knew.  He  was  of  a  type  rarely  found  among 
our  negroes,  who,  judging  from  their  physiognomy 
and  general  characteristics,  came  principally  from 
the  coast  of  Africa.  They  are  of  moderate  stature, 
with  dull  but  amiable  faces.  This  man,  however, 
was  of  immense  size,  and  he  possessed  the  features 
and  expression  of  a  Congo  desperado.  In  character 
also  he  differed  essentially  from  all  the  other  slaves 
in  our  country.  He  was  alike  without  their  amia- 
bility and  their  docility,  and  was  as  fearless  as  he 
was  brutal.  He  was  the  only  negro  I  ever  knew 
who  was  without  either  superstition  or  reverence. 
Indeed,  he  differed  so  widely  from  the  rest  of  the 
slaves  in  that  section  that  there  existed  some  feel- 
ing against  him  almost  akin  to  a  race  feeling.  At 
the  same  time  that  he  exercised  considerable  influ- 
ence over  them  they  were  dreadfully  afraid  of  him, 
and  were  always  in  terror  that  he  would  trick  them, 
to  which  awful  power  he  laid  well-known  claim. 
His  curses  in  his  strange  dialect  used  to  terrify  them 


"  No  Haid  Pawn."  173 

beyond  measure,  and  they  would  do  anything  to 
conciliate  him.  He  had  been  a  continual  source  of 
trouble  and  an  object  of  suspicion  in  the  neighbor- 
hood from  the  time  of  his  first  appearance ;  and 
more  than  one  hog  that  the  negroes  declared  had 
wandered  into  the  marshes  of  No  Haid  Pawn,  and 
had  "  cut  his  thote  jes'  swinin'  aroun'  an'  aroun'  in  de 
ma'sh,"  had  been  suspected  of  finding  its  way  to  this 
man's  cabin.  His  master  had  often  been  urged  to 
get  rid  of  him,  but  he  was  kept,  I  think,  probably 
because  he  was  valuable  on  the  plantation.  He  was 
a  fine  butcher,  a  good-  work-hand,  and  a  first-class 
boatman.  Moreover,  ours  was  a  conservative  popu- 
lation, in  which  every  man  minded  his  own  business 
and  let  his  neighbor's  alone. 

At  the  time  of  the  visits  of  those  secret  agents  to 
which  I  have  referred,  this  negro  was  discovered  to 
be  the  leader  in  the  secret  meetings  held  under 
their  auspices,  and  he  would  doubtless  have  been 
taken  up  and  shipped  off  at  once ;  but  when  the  in- 
truders fled,  as  I  have  related,  their  convert  disap- 
peared also.  It  was  a  subject  of  general  felicitation 
in  the  neighborhood  that  he  was  gotten  rid  of,  and 
his  master,  instead  of  being  commiserated  on  the 
loss  of  his  slave,  was  congratulated  that  he  had  not 
cut  his  throat. 

No  idea  can  be  given  at  this  date  of  the  excite- 
ment occasioned  in  a  quiet  neighborhood  in  old 
times  by  the  discovery  of  the  mere  presence  of  such 


In  Ok  Virginia. 

characters  as  Abolitionists.  It  was  as  if  the  founda- 
tions of  the  whole  social  fabric  were  undermined. 
It  was  the  sudden  darkening  of  a  shadow  that  al- 
ways hung  in  the  horizon.  The  slaves  were  in  a 
large  majority,  and  had  they  risen,  though  the  final 
issue  could  not  be  doubted,  the  lives  of  every  white 
on  the  plantations  must  have  paid  the  forfeit. 
Whatever  the  right  and  wrong  of  slavery  might 
have  been,  its  existence  demanded  that  no  outside 
interference  with  it  should  be  tolerated.  So  much 
was  certain  ;  self-preservation  required  this. 

I  was,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  a  well-grown 
lad,  and  had  been  for  two  sessions  to  a  boarding- 
school,  where  I  had  gotten  rid  of  some  portion — I 
will  not  say  of  all — of  the  superstition  of  my  boy- 
hood. The  spirit  of  adventure  was  beginning  to 
assert  itself  in  me,  and  I  had  begun  to  feel  a  sense 
of  enjoyment  in  overcoming  the  fears  which  once 
mastered  me,  though,  I  must  confess,  I  had  not 
entirely  shaken  off  my  belief  in  the  existence  of 
ghosts — that  is,  I  did  not  believe  in  them  at  all  in 
the  day-time,  but  when  night  came  I  was  not  so 
certain  about  it. 

Duck-hunting  was  my  favorite  sport,  and  the 
marshes  on  the  river  were  fine  ground  for  them 
usually,  but  this  season  the  weather  had  been  so 
singularly  warm  that  the  sport  had  been  poor,  and 
though  I  had  scoured  every  canal  in  the  marsh  and 
every  bend  in  the  river  as  far  as  No  Raid  Pawn 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  175 

Hammock,  as  the  stretch  of  drifted  timber  and 
treacherous  marsh  was  called  that  marked  the 
boundary-line  of  that  plantation,  I  had  had  bad 
luck.  Beyond  that  point  I  had  never  penetrated, 
partly,  no  doubt,  because  of  the  training  of  my 
earlier  years,  and  partly  because  the  marsh  on  either 
side  of  the  hammock  would  have  mired  a  cat. 
Often,  as  I  watched  with  envious  eyes  the  wild 
duck  rise  up  over  the  dense  trees  that  surrounded 
the  place  and  cut  straight  for  the  deserted  marshes 
in  the  horseshoe,  I  had  had  a  longing  to  invade  the 
mysterious  domain,  and  crawl  to  the  edge  of  No 
Haid  Pawn  and  get  a  shot  at  the  fowl  that  floated 
on  its  black  surface ;  but  something  had  always 
deterred  me,  and  the  long  reaches  of  No  Haid  Pawn 
were  left  to  the  wild-fowl  and  the  ghostly  rowers. 
Finally,  however,  after  a  spell  whose  high  tempera- 
ture was  rather  suited  to  August  than  April,  in 
desperation  at  my  ill-luck  I  determined  to  gratify 
my  curiosity  and  try  No  Haid  Pawn.  So  one  after- 
noon, without  telling  any  one  of  my  intention,  I 
crossed  the  mysterious  boundary  and  struck  through 
the  swamp  for  the  unknown  land. 

The  marsh  was  far  worse  than  I  had  anticipated, 
and  no  one  but  a  duck-hunter  as  experienced  and 
zealous  as  myself,  and  as  indifferent  to  ditches, 
briers,  mire,  and  all  that  make  a  swamp,  could  have 
penetrated  it  at  all.  Even  I  could  never  have  got- 
ten on  if  I  had  not  followed  the  one  path  that  led 


1/6  In  Ole  Virginia. 

into  the  marsh,  the  reputed  "  parf "  of  the  evil  spirits, 
and,  as  it  was,  my  progress  was  both  tedious  and 
dangerous. 

The  track  was  a  mysterious  one,  for  though  I 
knew  it  had  not  been  trodden  by  a  human  foot  in 
many  years,  yet  there,  a  veritable  "  parf,"  it  lay.  In 
some  places  it  was  almost  completely  lost,  and  I 
would  fear  I  should  have  to  turn  back,  but  an  over- 
hanging branch  or  a  vine  swinging  from  one  tree  to 
another  would  furnish  a  way  to  some  spot  where 
the  narrow  trail  began  again.  In  other  spots  old 
logs  thrown  across  the  miry  canals  gave  me  an  un- 
comfortable feeling  as  I  reflected  what  feet  had  last 
crossed  on  them.  On  both  sides  of  this  trail  the 
marsh  was  either  an  impenetrable  jungle  or  a  mire 
apparently  bottomless. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  as  I  finally 
emerged  from  the  woods  into  the  clearing,  if  that 
desolate  waste  of  willows,  cane,  and  swamp  growth 
could  be  so  termed.  About  me  stretched  the  jungle, 
over  which  a  greenish  lurid  atmosphere  brooded, 
and  straight  ahead  towered  the  gaunt  mansion,  a 
rambling  pile  of  sombre  white,  with  numberless 
vacant  windows  staring  at  me  from  the  leafless  trees 
about  it.  Only  one  other  clump  of  trees  appeared 
above  the  canes  and  brush,  and  that  I  knew  by  in- 
tuition was  the  graveyard. 

I  think  I  should  have  turned  back  had  not  shame 
impelled  me  forward. 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  177 

My  progress  from  this  point  was  even  more  diffi- 
cult than  it  had  been  hitherto,  for  the  trail  at  the 
end  of  the  wood  terminated  abruptly  in  a  gut  of  the 
swamp  ;  however,  I  managed  to  keep  on  by  walking 
on  hammocks,  pushing  through  clumps  of  bushes, 
and  wading  as  best  I  could.  It  was  slow  and  hot 
work,  though. 

It  never  once  struck  me  that  it  must  be  getting 
late.  I  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  gloom  of 
the  woods  that  the  more  open  ground  appeared  quite 
light  to  me,  and  I  had  not  paid  any  attention  to  the 
black  cloud  that  had  been  for  some  time  gathering 
overhead,  or  to  the  darkening  atmosphere. 

I  suddenly  became  sensible  that  it  was  going  to 
rain.  However,  I  was  so  much  engrossed  in  the 
endeavor  to  get  on  that  even  then  I  took  little  note 
of  it.  The  nearer  I  came  to  the  house  the  more  it 
arrested  my  attention,  and  the  more  weird  and  un- 
canny it  looked.  Canes  and  bushes  grew  up  to  the 
very  door ;  the  window-shutters  hung  from  the 
hinges ;  the  broken  windows  glared  like  eyeless 
sockets  ;  the  portico  had  fallen  away  from  the  wall, 
while  the  wide  door  stood  slightly  ajar,  giving  to 
the  place  a  singularly  ghastly  appearance,  somewhat 
akin  to  the  color  which  sometimes  lingers  on  the 
face  of  a  corpse.  In  my  progress  wading  through 
the  swamp  I  had  gone  around  rather  to  the  side  of 
the  house  toward  where  I  supposed  the  "  pawn " 
itself  to  lie. 

12 


178  In  Ole   Virginia. 

I  was  now  quite  near  to  it,  and  striking  a  little 
less  miry  ground,  as  I  pushed  my  way  through  the 
bushes  and  canes,  which  were  higher  than  my  head, 
I  became  aware  that  I  was  very  near  the  thicket 
that  marked  the  graveyard,  just  beyond  which  I 
knew  the  pond  itself  lay.  I  was  somewhat  startled, 
for  the  cloud  made  it  quite  dusky,  and,  stepping  on 
a  long  piece  of  rotten  timber  lying  on  the  ground,  I 
parted  the  bushes  to  look  down  the  pond.  As  I 
did  so  the  rattle  of  a  chain  grated  on  me,  and,  glanc- 
ing up  through  the  cane,  before  me  appeared  a  heavy 
upright  timber  with  an  arm  or  cross-beam  stretching 
from  it,  from  which  dangled  a  long  chain,  almost 
rusted  away.  I  knew  by  instinct  that  I  stood  under 
the  gallows  where  the  murderer  of  No  Raid  Pawn 
had  expiated  his  dreadful  crime.  His  corpse  must 
have  fallen  just  where  I  stood.  I  started  back  ap- 
palled. 

Just  then  the  black  cloud  above  me  was  parted 
by  a  vivid  flame,  and  a  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to 
rive  the  earth. 

I  turned  in  terror,  but  before  I  had  gone  fifty 
yards  the  storm  was  upon  me,  and  instinctively  I 
made  for  the  only  refuge  that  was  at  hand.  It  was 
a  dreadful  alternative,  but  I  did  not  hesitate.  Out- 
side I  was  not  even  sure  that  my  life  was  safe.  And 
with  extraordinary  swiftness  I  had  made  my  way 
through  the  broken  iron  fence  that  lay  rusting  in 
the  swamp,  had  traversed  the  yard,  all  grown  up  as 


"  No  Haid  Pawn:'  179 

it  was  to  the  very  threshold,  had  ascended  the 
sunken  steps,  crossed  the  rotted  portico,  and  en- 
tered the  open  door. 

A  long  dark  hall  stretched  before  me,  extending, 
as  well  as  I  could  judge  in  the  gloom,  entirely  across 
the  house.  A  number  of  doors,  some  shut,  some 
ajar,  opened  on  the  hall  on  one  side ;  and  a  broad, 
dark  stairway  ascended  on  the  other  to  the  upper 
story.  The  walls  were  black  with  mould.  At  the 
far  end  a  large  bow-window,  with  all  the  glass  gone, 
looked  out  on  the  waste  of  swamp,  unbroken  save 
by  the  clump  of  trees  in  the  graveyard,  and  just 
beside  this  window  was  a  break  where  the  dark 
staircase  descended  to  the  apartments  below.  The 
whole  place  was  in  a  state  of  advanced  decay ;  al- 
most the  entire  plastering  had  fallen  with  the  damp, 
and  the  hall  presented  a  scene  of  desolation  that 
beggars  description. 

I  was  at  last  in  the  haunted  house  ! 

The  rain,  driven  by  the  wind,  poured  in  at  the 
broken  windows  in  such  a  deluge  that  I  was  forced 
in  self-defence  to  seek  shelter  in  one  of  the  rooms. 
I  tried  several,  but  the  doors  were  swollen  or  fast- 
ened ;  I  found  one,  however,  on  the  leeward  side  of 
the  house,  and,  pushing  the  door,  which  opened 
easily,  I  entered.  Inside  I  found  something  like  an 
old  bed  ;  and  the  great  open  fireplace  had  evidently 
been  used  at  some  earlier  time,  for  the  ashes  were 
still  banked  up  in  the  cavernous  hearth,  and  the 


l8o  In  Ole   Virginia. 

charred  ends  of  the  logs  of  wood  were  lying  in  the 
chimney  corners.  To  see,  still  as  fresh  and  natural 
as  though  the  fire  had  but  just  died  out,  these  rem- 
nants of  domestic  life  that  had  survived  all  else  of  a 
similar  period  struck  me  as  unspeakably  ghastly. 
The  bedstead,  however,  though  rude,  was  conve- 
nient as  a  seat,  and  I  utilized  it  accordingly,  propping 
myself  up  against  one  of  the  rough  posts.  From 
my  position  I  commanded  through  the  open  door 
the  entire  length  of  the  vacant  hall,  and  could  look 
straight  out  of  the  great  bow-window  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  through  which  appeared,  against  the  dull 
sky,  the  black  mass  of  the  graveyard  trees,  and  a 
stretch  of  one  of  the  canals  or  guts  of  the  swamp 
curving  around  it,  which  gleamed  white  in  the  glare 
of  the  lightning. 

I  had  expected  that  the  storm  would,  like  most 
thunder-storms  in  the  latitude,  shortly  exhaust  itself, 
or,  as  we  say,  "  blow  over  ;  "  but  I  was  mistaken,  and 
as  the  time  passed,  its  violence,  instead  of  diminish- 
ing, increased.  It  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  pres- 
ently the  startling  truth  dawned  on  me  that  the 
gloom  which  I  had  supposed  simply  the  effect  of  the 
overshadowing  cloud  had  been  really  nightfall.  I 
was  shut  up  alone  in  No  Haid  Pawn  for  the  night ! 

I  hastened  to  the  door  with  the  intention  of  braving 
the  storm  and  getting  away ;  but  I  was  almost  blown 
off  my  feet.  A  glance  without  showed  me  that  the 
guts  with  which  the  swamp  was  traversed  in  every 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  181 

direction  were  now  full  to  the  brim,  and  to  attempt 
to  find  my  way  home  in  the  darkness  would  be  sheer 
madness ;  so,  after  a  wistful  survey,  I  returned  to 
my  wretched  perch.  I  thought  I  would  try  and  light 
a  fire,  but  to  my  consternation  I  had  not  a  match, 
and  I  finally  abandoned  myself  to  my  fate.  It  was 
a  desolate,  if  not  despairing,  feeling  that  I  experi- 
enced. My  mind  was  filled,  not  only  with  my  own 
unhappiness,  but  with  the  thought  of  the  distress  my 
absence  would  occasion  them  at  home ;  and  for  a 
little  while  I  had  a  fleeting  hope  that  a  party  would 
be  sent  out  to  search  for  me.  This,  however,  was 
untenable,  for  they  would  not  know  where  I  was. 
The  last  place  in  which  they  would  ever  think  of 
looking  for  me  was  No  Haid  Pawn,  and  even  if  they 
knew  I  was  there  they  could  no  more  get  to  me  in 
the  darkness  and  storm  than  I  could  escape  from  it. 

I  accordingly  propped  myself  up  on  my  bed 
and  gave  myself  up  to  my  reflections.  I  said  my 
prayers  very  fervently.  I  thought  I  would  try  and 
get  to  sleep,  but  sleep  was  far  from  my  eyes. 

My  surroundings  were  too  vivid  to  my  apprehen- 
sion. The  awful  traditions  of  the  place,  do  what  I 
might  to  banish  them,  would  come  to  mind.  The 
original  building  of  the  house,  and  its  blood-stained 
foundation  stones  ;  the  dead  who  had  died  of  the 
pestilence  that  had  raged  afterward ;  the  bodies 
carted  by  scores  and  buried  in  the  sobby  earth  of 
the  graveyard,  whose  trees  loomed  up  through  the 


1 82  In  Ole   Virginia. 

broken  window ;  the  dreadful  story  of  the  dead 
paddling  about  the  swamp  in  their  coffins ;  and, 
above  all,  the  gigantic  maniac  whose  ferocity  even 
murder  could  not  satiate,  and  who  had  added  to 
murder  awful  mutilation :  he  had  dragged  the 
mangled  corpse  of  his  victim  up  those  very  steps 
and  flung  it  out  of  the  very  window  which  gaped 
just  beyond  me  in  the  glare  of  the  lightning.  It  all 
passed  through  my  mind  as-  I  sat  there  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  no  effort  of  my  will  could  keep  my  thoughts 
from  dwelling  on  it.  The  terrific  thunder,  outcrash- 
ing  a  thousand  batteries,  at  times  engrossed  my 
attention  ;  but  it  always  reverted  to  that  scene  of 
horror ;  and  if  I  dozed,  the  slamming  of  the  loose 
blinds,  or  the  terrific  fury  of  the  storm,  would  sud- 
denly startle  me.  Once,  as  the  sounds  subsided  for  a 
moment,  or  else  I  having  become  familiar  with  them, 
as  I  was  sinking  into  a  sleepy  state,  a  door  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall  creaked  and  then  slammed  with 
violence,  bringing  me  bolt  upright  on  the  bed,  clutch-* 
ing  my  gun.  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  heard  foot- 
steps ;  but  the  wind  was  blowing  a  hurricane,  and, 
after  another  period  of  wakefulness  and  dreadful 
recollection,  nature  succumbed,  and  I  fell  asleep. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  can  be  said  to  have  lost 
consciousness  even  then,  for  my  mind  was  still  en- 
chained by  the  horrors  of  my  situation,  and  went  on 
clinging  to  them  and  dwelling  upon  them  even  in 
my  slumber. 


"  No  Haid  Pawn."  183 

I  was,  however,  certainly  asleep ;  for  the  storm 
must  have  died  temporarily  away  about  this  hour 
without  my  knowing  it,  and  I  subsequently  heard 
that  it  did. 

I  must  have  slept  several  hours,  for  I  was  quite 
stiff  from  my  constrained  posture  when  I  became 
fully  aroused. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  very  peculiar  sound  ;  it  was 
like  a  distant  call  or  halloo.  Although  I  had  been 
fast  asleep  a  moment  before,  it  startled  me  into  a 
state  of  the  highest  attention.  In  a  second  I  was  wide 
awake.  There  was  not  a  sound  except  the  rumble 
and  roll  of  the  thunder,  as  the  storm  once  more  be- 
gan to  renew  itself,  and  in  the  segment  of  the  circle 
that  I  could  see  along  the  hall  through  my  door,  and, 
indeed,  out  through  the  yawning  window  at  the  end, 
as  far  as  the  black  clump  of  trees  in  the  graveyard 
just  at  the  bend  of  the  canal,  which  I  commanded 
from  my  seat  whenever  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning, 
there  was  only  the  swaying  of  the  bushes  in  the 
swamp  and  of  the  trees  in  the  graveyard.  Yet  there 
I  sat  bolt  upright  on  my  bed,  in  the  darkness,  with 
every  nerve  strained  to  its  utmost  tension,  and  that 
unearthly  cry  still  sounding  in  my  ears.  I  was  en- 
deavoring to  reason  myself  into  the  belief  that  I  had 
dreamed  it,  when  a  flash  of  lightning  lit  up  the  whole 
field  of  my  vision  as  if  it  had  been  in  the  focus  of  a 
sun-glass,  and  out  on  the  canal,  where  it  curved 
around  the  graveyard,  Was  a  boat — a  something— 


1 84  In  Ole  Virginia. 

small,  black,  with  square  ends,  and  with  a  man  in  it, 
standing  upright,  and  something  lying  in  a  lump  or 
mass  at  the  bow. 

I  knew  I  could  not  be  mistaken,  for  the  lightning, 
by  a  process  of  its  own,  photographs  everything  on 
the  retina  in  minutest  detail,  and  I  had  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  everything  from  the  foot  of  the  bed,  on 
which  I  crouched,  to  the  gaunt  arms  of  those  black 
trees  in  the  graveyard  just  over  that  ghostly  boat- 
man and  his  dreadful  freight.  I  was  wide  awake. 

The  story  of  the  dead  rowing  in  their  coffins  was 
verified  ! 

I  am  unable  to  state  what  passed  in  the  next  few 
minutes. 

The  storm  had  burst  again  with  renewed  violence 
and  was  once  more  expending  itself  on  the  house  ; 
the  thunder  was  again  rolling  overhead  ;  the  broken 
blinds  were  swinging  and  slamming  madly  ;  and  the 
dreadful  memories  of  the  place  were  once  more  be- 
setting me. 

I  shifted  my  position  to  relieve  the  cramp  it  had 
occasioned,  still  keeping  my  face  toward  that  fatal 
window.  As  I  did  so,  I  heard  above,  or  perhaps  I 
should  say  under,  the  storm  a  sound  more  terrible  to 
me — the  repetition  of  that  weird  halloo,  this  time 
almost  under  the  great  window.  Immediately  suc- 
ceeding this  was  the  sound  of  something  scraping 
under  the  wall,  and  I  was  sensible  when  a  door  on 
the  ground-floor  was  struck  with  a  heavy  thud.  It 


11  No  Haid  Pawn."  185 

was  pitch-dark,  but  I  heard  the  door  pushed  wide 
open,  and  as  a  string  of  fierce  oaths,  part  English 
and  part  Creole  French,  floated  up  the  dark  stair- 
way, muffled  as  if  sworn  through  clinched  teeth,  I 
held  my  breath.  I  recalled  the  unknown  tongue 
the  ghostly  murderer  employed  ;  and  I  knew  that 
the  murderer  of  No  Haid  Pawn  had  left  his  grave, 
and  that  his  ghost  wras  coming  up  that  stair.  I  heard 
his  step  as  it  fell  on  the  first  stair  heavily  yet  almost 
noiselessly.  It  was  an  unearthly  sound — dull,  like 
the  tread  of  a  bared  foot,  accompanied  by  the  scrap- 
ing sound  of  a  body  dragging.  Step  by  step  he 
came  up  the  black  stairway  in  the  pitch  darkness  as 
steadily  as  if  it  were  daytime,  and  he  knew  every 
step,  accompanied  by  that  sickening  sound  of  drag- 
ging. There  was  a  final  pull  up  the  last  step,  and  a 
dull,  heavy  thud,  as,  with  a  strange,  wild  laugh,  he 
flung  his  burden  on  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  there  was  not  a  sound,  and  then 
the  awful  silence  and  blackness  were  broken  by  a 
crash  of  thunder  that  seemed  to  tear  the  foundations 
asunder  like  a  mighty  earthquake,  and  the  whole 
house,  and  the  great  swamp  outside,  were  filled  with 
a  glare  of  vivid,  blinding  light.  Directly  in  front  of 
me,  clutching  in  his  upraised  hand  a  long,  keen,  glit- 
tering knife,  on  whose  blade  a  ball  of  fire  seemed  to 
play,  stood  a  gigantic  figure  in  the  very  flame  of  the 
lightning,  and  stretched  at  his  feet  lay,  ghastly  and 
bloody,  a  black  and  headless  trunk. 


1 86  In  Ole  Virginia. 

I  staggered  to  the  door  and,  tripping,  fell  pros- 
trate over  the  sill. 


When  we  could  get  there,  nothing  was  left  but  the 
foundation.  The  haunted  house,  when  struck,  had 
literally  burned  to  the  water's  edge.  The  changed 
current  had  washed  its  way  close  to  the  place,  and  in 
strange  verification  of  the  negroes'  traditions.  No 
Haid  Pawn  had  reclaimed  its  own,  and  the  spot  with 
all  its  secrets  lay  buried  under  its  dark  waters. 


POLLY. 

A    CHRISTMAS    RECOLLECTION. 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve.  I  remember  it  just  as  if  it 
was  yesterday.  The  Colonel  had  been  pretend- 
ing not  to  notice  it,  but  when  Drinkwater  Torm  * 
knocked  over  both  the  great  candlesticks,  and  in 
his  attempt  to  pick  them  up  lurched  over  himself 
and  fell  sprawling  on  the  floor,  he  yelled  at  him. 
Torm  pulled  himself  together,  and  began  an  expla- 
nation, in  which  the  point  was  that  he  had  not 
"  teched  a  drap  in  Gord  knows  how  long,"  but  the 
Colonel  cut  him  short. 

"  Get  out  of  the  room,  you  drunken  vagabond ! " 
he  roared. 

Torm  was  deeply  offended.  He  made  a  low, 
grand  bow,  and  with  as  much  dignity  as  his  unsteady 
condition  would  admit  of,  marched  very  statelily 
from  the  room,  and  passing  out  through  the  dining- 
room,  where  he  stopped  to  abstract  only  one  more 
drink  from  the  long,  heavy,  cut-glass  decanter  on  the 
sideboard,  meandered  out  to  his  house  in  the  back- 

*  This  spelling  is  used  because  he  was  called  "Torm"  until  it 
became  his  name. 


1 88  In  Ole  Virginia. 

yard,  where  he  proceeded  to  talk  religion  to  Charity, 
his  wife,  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  particularly 
drunk.  He  was  expounding  the  vision  of  the  golden 
candlestick,  and  the  bowl  and  seven  lamps  and  two 
olive-trees,  when  he  fell  asleep.  The  roarer,  as  has 
been  said,  was  the  Colonel  ;  the  meanderer  was 
Drinkwater  Torm.  The  Colonel  gave  him  the  name, 
"  because/'  he  said,  "  if  he  were  to  drink  water  once 
he  would  die."  As  Drinkwater  closed  the  door, 
the  Colonel  continued,  fiercely : 

"  Damme,  Polly,  I  will !  I'll  sell  him  to-morrow 
morning;  and  if  I  can't  sell  him  I'll  give  him  away." 

Polly,  with  troubled  great  dark  eyes,  was  wheed- 
ling him  vigorously. 

"  No ;  I  tell  you  I'll  sell  him.  *  Misery  in  his 
back '  the  mischief  !  he's  a  drunken,  trifling,  good- 
for-nothing  nigger,  and  I  have  sworn  to  sell  him  a 
thousand — yes,  ten  thousand  times  ;  and  now  I'll 
have  to  do  it  to  keep  my  word." 

This  was  true.  The  Colonel  swore  this  a  dozen 
times  a  day — every  time  Torm  got  drunk,  and  as 
that  had  occurred  very  frequently  for  many  years 
before  Polly  was  born,  he  was  not  outside  of  the 
limit.  Polly,  however,  was  the  only  one  this  threat 
ever  troubled.  The  Colonel  knew  he  could  no  more 
have  gotten  on  without  Torm  than  his  old  open- 
faced  watch,  which  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a 
model  of  himself,  could  have  run  without  the  main- 
spring. From  tying  his  shoes  and  getting  his  shav- 


Polly.  189 

ing-water  to  making  his  juleps  and  lighting  his 
candles,  which  was  all  he  had  to  do,  Drinkwater 
Term  was  necessary  to  him.  (I  think  he  used  to 
make  the  threat  just  to  prove  to  himself  that  Torm 
did  not  own  him  ;  if  so,  he  failed  in  his  purpose — • 
Torm  did  own  him.)  Torm  knew  it  as  well  as  he, 
or  better ;  and  while  Charity,  for  private  and  wifely 
reasons,  occasionally  held  the  threat  over  him  when 
his  expoundings  passed  even  her  endurance,  she 
knew  it  also. 

Thus  Polly  was  the  only  one  it  deceived  or  fright- 
ened. It  always  deceived  her,  and  she  never  rested 
until  she  had  obtained  Term's  reprieve  "  for  just 
one  more  time."  So  on  this  occasion,  before  she 
got  down  from  the  Colonel's  knees,  she  had  given 
him  in  bargain  "  just  one  more  squeeze,"  and  received 
in  return  Torm's  conditional  pardon,  "  only  till  next 
time." 

Everybody  in  the  county  knew  the  Colonel,  and 
everybody  knew  Drinkwater  Torm,  and  everybody 
who  had  been  to  the  Colonel's  for  several  years  past 
(and  that  was  nearly  everybody  in  the  county,  for 
the  Colonel  kept  open  house)  knew  Polly.  She  had 
been  placed  in  her  chair  by  the  Colonel's  side  at  the 
club  dinner  on  her  first  birthday  after  her  arrival, 
and  had  been  afterward  placed  on  the  table  and 
allowed  to  crawl  around  among  and  in  the  dishes  to 
entertain  the  gentlemen,  which  she  did  to  the  ap- 
plause of  every  one,  and  of  herself  most  of  all ;  and 


190  In  Ole  Virginia. 

from  that  time  she  had  exercised  in  her  kingdom  the 
functions  of  both  Vashti  and  Esther,  and  whatever 
Polly  ordered  was  done.  If  the  old  inlaid  piano  in, 
the  parlor  had  been  robbed  of  strings,  it  was  all 
right,  for  Polly  had  taken  them.  Bob  had  cut  them 
out  for  her,  without  a  word  of  protest  from  any  one 
but  Charity.  The  Colonel  would  have  given  her  his 
heart-strings  if  Polly  had  required  them. 

She  had  owned  him  body  and  soul  from  the  second 
he  first  laid  eyes  on  her,  when,  on  the  instant  he  en- 
tered the  room,  she  had  stretched  out  her  little 
chubby  hands  to  him,  and  on  his  taking  her  had, 
after  a  few  infantile  caresses,  curled  up  and,  with  her 
finger  in  her  mouth,  gone  to  sleep  in  his  arms  like  a 
little  white  kitten. 

Bob  used  to  wonder  in  a  vague,  boyish  way  where 
the  child  got  her  beauty,  for  the  Colonel  weighed 
two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  was  as  ugly  as  a 
red  head  and  thirty  or  forty  years  of  Term's  mint- 
juleps  piled  on  a  somewhat  reckless  college  career 
could  make  him  ;  but  one  day,  when  the  Colonel 
was  away  from  home,  Charity  showed  him  a  daguer- 
reotype of  a  lady,  which  she  got  out  of  the  top  drawer 
of  the  Colonel's  big  secretary  with  the  brass  lions 
on  it,  and  it  looked  exactly  like  Polly.  It  had  the 
same  great  big  dark  eyes  and  the  same  soft  white 
look,  though  Polly  was  stouter ;  for  she  was  a  great 
tomboy,  and  used  to  run  wild  over  the  place  with 
Bob,  climbing  cherry-trees,  and  fishing  in  the  creek, 


Polly.  191 

and  looking  as  blooming  as  a  rose,  with  her  hair  all 
tangled  over  her  pretty  head,  until  she  grew  quite 
large,  and  the  Colonel  got  her  a  tutor.  He  thought 
of  sending  her  to  a  boarding-school,  but  the  night  he 
broached  the  subject  he  raised  such  a  storm,  and 
Polly  was  in  such  a  tempest  of  tears,  that  he  gave 
up  the  matter  at  once.  It  was  well  he  did  so;  for 
Polly  and  Charity  cried  all  night,  and  Torm  was  so 
overcome  that  even  next  morning  he  could  not  bring 
the  Colonel  his  shaving-water,  and  he  had  to  shave 
with  cold  water  for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years. 
He  therefore  employed  a  tutor.  Most  people  said 
the  child  ought  to  have  had  a  governess,  and  one  or 
two  single  ladies  of  forgotten  age  in  the  neighbor- 
hood delicately  hinted  that  they  would  gladly  teach 
her ;  but  the  Colonel  swore  that  he  would  have  no 
women  around  him,  and  he  would  be  eternally  con- 
demned if  any  should  interfere  with  Polly  ;  so  he 
engaged  Mr.  Cranmer,  and  invited  Bob  to  come  over 
and  go  to  school  to  him  also,  which  he  did  ;  for  his 
mother,  who  had  up  to  that  time  taught  him  her- 
self, was  very  poor,  and  was  unable  to  send  him  to 
school,  her  husband,  who  was  the  Colonel's  fourth 
cousin,  having  died  largely  indebted,  and  all  of  his 
property,  except  a  small  farm  adjoining  the  Colonel's, 
and  a  few  negroes,  having  gone  into  the  General 
Court. 

Bob  had  always  been  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Colonel,  and  ever  since  he  had  been  a  small  boy  he 


192  In  Ole   Virginia. 

had   been  used   to  coming  over  and  staying  with 
him. 

He  could  gaff  a  chicken  as  well  as  Drinkwater 
Torm,  which  was  a  great  accomplishment  in  the 
Colonel's  eyes  ;  for  he  had  the  best  game-chickens  in 
the  county,  and  used  to  fight  them,  too,  matching 
them  against  those  of  one  or  two  of  his  neighbors 
who  were  similarly  inclined,  until  Polly  grew  up  and 
made  him  stop.  He  could  tame  a  colt  quicker  than 
anybody  on  the  plantation.  Moreover,  he  could 
shoot  more  partridges  in  a  day  than  the  Colonel, 
and  could  beat  him  shooting  with  a  pistol  as  well, 
though  the  Colonel  laid  the  fault  of  the  former  on 
his  being  so  fat,  and  that  of  the  latter  on  his  specta- 
cles. They  used  to  practice  with  the  Colonel's  old 
pistols  that  hung  in  their  holsters  over  the  tester  of 
his  bed,  and  about  which  Drinkwater  used  to  tell  so 
many  lies  ;  for  although  they  were  kept  loaded,  and 
their  brass-mounted  butts  peeping  out  of  their 
leathern  covers  used  to  look  ferocious  enough  to 
give  some  apparent  ground  for  Term's  story  of  how 
"he  and  the  Colonel  had  shot  Judge  Cabell  spang 
through  the  heart,"  the  Colonel  always  said  that 
Cabell  behaved  very  handsomely,  and  that  the  mat- 
ter was  arranged  on  the  field  without  a  shot.  Even 
at  that  time  some  people  said  that  Bob's  mother 
was  trying  to  catch  the  Colonel,  and  that  if  the 
Colonel  did  not  look  out  she  would  yet  be  the  mis- 
tress of  his  big  plantation.  And  all  agreed  that  the 


Polly.  193 

boy  would  come  in  for  something  handsome  at  the 
Colonel's  death  ;  for  Bob  was  his  cousin  and  his 
nearest  male  relative,  if  Polly  was  his  niece,  and  he 
would  hardly  leave  her  all  his  property,  especially  as 
she  was  so  much  like  her  mother,  with  whom,  as 
everybody  knew,  the  Colonel  had  been  desperately 
in  love,  but  who  had  treated  him  badly,  and,  not- 
withstanding his  big  plantation  and  many  negroes, 
had  run  away  with  his  younger  brother,  and  both  of 
them  had  died  in  the  South  of  yellow  fever,  leaving 
of  all  their  children  only  this  little  Polly ;  and  the 
Colonel  had  taken  Drinkwater  and  Charity,  and  had 
travelled  in  his  carriage  all  the  way  to  Mississippi, 
to  get  and  bring  Polly  back.  It  was  Christmas  Eve 
when  they  reached  home,  and  the  Colonel  had  sent 
Drinkwater  on  a  day  ahead  to  have  the  fires  made 
and  the  house  aired  for  the  baby ;  and  when  the 
carriage  drove  up  that  night  you  would  have  thought 
a  queen  was  coming,  sure  enough. 

Every  hand  on  the  plantation  was  up  at  the  great 
house  waiting  for  them,  and  every  room  in  the 
house  had  a  fire  in  it.  (Torm  had  told  the  overseer 
so  many  lies  that  he  had  had  the  men  cutting  wood 
all  day,  although  the  regular  supply  was  cut.)  And 
when  Charity  stepped  out  of  the  carnage,  with  the 
baby  all  bundled  up  in  her  arms,  making  a  great 
show  about  keeping  it  wrapped  up,  and  walked  up 
the  steps  as  slowly  as  if  it  were  made  of  gold,  you 
could  have  heard  a  pin  drop ;  even  the  Colonel  fell 
13 


194  In  Oh  Virginia. 

back,  and  spoke  in  a  whisper.  The  great  chamber 
was  given  up  to  the  baby,  the  Colonel  going  to  the 
wing  room,  where  he  always  stayed  after  that.  He 
spoke  of  sitting  up  all  night  to  watch  the  child,  but 
Charity  assured  him  that  she  was  not  going  to  take 
her  eyes  off  of  her  during  the  night,  and  with  a 
promise  to  come  in  every  hour  and  look  after  them, 
the  Colonel  went  to  his  room,  where  he  slept  until 
nine  o'clock  the  next  morning.  But  I  was  telling 
what  people  said  about  Bob's  mother. 

When  the  report  reached  the  Colonel  about  the 
widow's  designs,  he  took  Polly  on  his  knees  and  told 
her  all  about  it,  and  then  both  laughed  until  the 
tears  ran  down  the  Colonel's  face  and  dropped  on 
his  big  flowered  vest  and  on  Polly's  little  blue  frock  ; 
and  he  sent  the  widow  next  day  a  fine  short-horned 
heifer  to  show  his  contempt  of  the  gossip. 

And  now  Bob  was  the  better  shot  of  the  two ; 
and  they  taught  Polly  to  shoot  too,  and  to  load  and 
unload  the  pistols,  at  which  the  Colonel  was  as  proud 
as  if  one  of  his  young  stags  had  whipped  an  old 
rooster. 

But  they  never  could  induce  her  to  shoot  at  any- 
thing except  a  mark.  She  was  the  tenderest-hearted 
little  thing  in  the  world. 

If  her  taste  had  been  consulted  she  would  have 
selected  a  crossbow,  for  it  did  not  make  such  a  noise, 
and  she  could  shoot  it  without  shutting  her  eyes ; 
besides  that,  she  could  shoot  it  in  the  house,  which, 


Polly,  195 

indeed,  she  did,  until  she  had  shot  the  eyes  out  of 
nearly  all  the  bewigged  gentlemen  and  bare-necked, 
long-fingered  ladies  on  the  walls.  Once  she  came 
very  near  shooting  Term's  eye  out  also ;  but  this 
was  an  accident,  though  Drinkwater  declared  it  was 
not,  and  tried  to  make  out  that  Bob  had  put  her  up 
to  it.  "  Dat's  de  mischievouses'  boy  Gord  ever 
made,"  he  said,  complainingly,  to  Charity.  Fortu- 
nately, his  eye  got  well,  and  it  gave  him  an  excuse 
for  staying  half  drunk  for  nearly  a  week;  and  after- 
ward, like  a  dog  that  has  once  been  lame  in  his  hind- 
leg,  whenever  he  saw  Polly,  and  did  not  forget  it, 
he  squinted  up  that  eye  and  tried  to  look  miserable. 
Polly  was  quite  a  large  girl  then,  and  was  carrying 
the  keys  (except  when  she  lost  them),  though  she 
could  not  have  been  more  than  twelve  years  old  ;  for 
it  was  just  after  this  that  the  birthday  came  when  the 
Colonel  gave  her  her  first  real  silk  dress.  It  was  blue 
silk,  and  came  from  Richmond,  and  it  was  hard  to 
tell  which  was  the  proudest,  Polly,  or  Charity,  or 
Drinkwater,  or  the  Colonel.  Torm  got  drunk  before 
the  dinner  was  over,  "  drinking  de  healthsh  to  de 
young  mistis  in  de  sky-blue  robes  what  stands  befo' 
de  throne,  you  know,"  he  explained  to  Charity,  after 
the  Colonel  had  ordered  him  from  the  dining-room, 
with  promises  of  prompt  sale  on  the  morrow. 

Bob  was  there,  and  it  was  the  last  time  Polly  ever 
sucked  her  thumb.  She  had  almost  gotten  out  of 
the  habit  anyhow,  and  it  was  in  a  moment  of  forget- 


196  In  Ole  Virginia. 

fulness  that  she  let  Bob  see  her  do  it.  He  was  a 
great  tease,  and  when  she  was  smaller  had  often 
worried  her  about  it  until  she  would  fly  at  him  and 
try  to  bite  him  with  her  little  white  teeth.  On  this 
occasion,  however,  she  stood  everything  until  he 
said  that  about  a  girl  who  wore  a  blue  silk  dress 
sucking  her  thumb ;  then  she  boxed  his  jaws.  The 
fire  flew  from  his  eyes,  but  hers  were  even  more 
sparkling.  He  paused  for  a  minute,  and  then  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  violently.  She  never 
sucked  her  thumb  after  that. 

This  happened  out  in  front  of  her  mammy's 
house,  within  which  Torm  was  delivering  a  powerful 
exhortation  on  temperance ;  and,  strange  to  say, 
Charity  took  Bob's  side,  while  Torm  espoused 
Polly's,  and  afterward  said  she  ought  to  have 
"  tooken  a  stick  and  knocked  Marse  Bob's  head 
spang  off."  This,  fortunately,  Polly  did  not  do  (and 
when  Bob  went  to  the  university  afterward  he  was 
said  to  have  the  best  head  in  his  class).  She  just 
turned  around  and  ran  into  the  house,  with  her  face 
very  red.  But  she  never  slapped  Bob  after  that. 
Not  long  after  this  he  went  off  to  college  ;  for  Mr. 
Cranmer,  the  tutor,  said  he  already  knew  more  than 
most  college  graduates  did,  and  that  it  would  be  a 
shame  for  him  not  to  have  a  university  education. 
When  the  question  of  ways  and  means  was  mooted, 
the  Colonel,  who  was  always  ready  to  lend  money 
if  he  had  it,  and  to  borrow  it  if  he  did  not,  swore  he 


Polly.  197- 

would  give  him  all  the  money  he  wanted ;  but,  to 
his  astonishment,  Bob  refused  to  accept  it,  and 
although  the  Colonel  abused  him  for  it,  and  asked 
Polly  if  she  did  not  think  he  was  a  fool  (which  Polly 
did,  for  she  was  always  ready  to  take  and  spend  all 
the  money  he  or  any  one  else  gave  her),  yet  he  did 
not  like  him  the  less  for  it,  and  he  finally  persuaded 
Bob  to  take  it  as  a  loan,  and  Bob  gave  him  his  bond. 

The  day  before  he  left  home  he  was  over  at  the 
Colonel's,  where  they  had  a  great  dinner  for  him, 
and  Polly  presided  in  her  newest  silk  dress  (she  had 
three  then) ;  and  when  Bob  said  good-by  she  slipped 
something  into  his  hand,  and  ran  away  to  her  room, 
and  when  he  looked  at  it,  it  was  her  ten-dollar  gold 
piece,  and  he  took  it. 

He  was  at  college  not  quite  three  years,  for  his 
mother  was  taken  sick,  and  he  had  to  come  home 
and  nurse  her ;  but  he  had  stood  first  in  most  of  his 
classes,  and  not  lower  than  third  in  any  ;  and  he  had 
thrashed  the  carpenter  on  Vinegar  Hill,  who  was 
the  bully  of  the  town.  So  that  although  he  did  not 
take  his  degree,  he  had  gotten  the  start  which  en- 
abled him  to  complete  his  studies  during  the  time 
he  was  taking  care  of  his  mother,  and  until  her 
death,  so  that  as  soon  as  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar 
he  made  his  mark.  It  was  his  splendid  defence  of 
the  man  who  shot  the  deputy-sheriff  at  the  court- 
house on  election  day  that  brought  him  out  as  the 
Democratic  candidate  for  the  Constitutional  Con- 


198  In  Ole  Virginia. 

vention,  where  he  made  such  a  reputation  as  a 
speaker  that  the  Enquirer  declared  him  the  rising 
man  of  the  State  ;  and  even  the  Whig  admitted  that 
perhaps  the  Loco-foco  party  might  find  a  leader  to 
redeem  it.  Polly  was  just  fifteen  when  she  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  politics ;  and  although  she 
read  the  papers  diligently,  especially  the  Enquirer, 
which  her  uncle  never  failed  to  abuse,  yet  she  never 
could  exactly  satisfy  herself  which  side  was  right ; 
for  the  Colonel  was  a  stanch  Whig,  while  most  peo- 
ple must  have  been  Democrats,  as  Bob  was  elected 
by  a  big  majority.  She  wanted  to  be  on  the  Col- 
onel's side,  and  made  him  explain  everything  to 
her,  which  he  did  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction,  and 
to  hers  too,  she  tried  to  think;  but  when  Bob  came 
over  to  tea,  which  he  very  frequently  did,  and  the 
Colonel  and  he  got  into  a  discussion,  her  uncle 
always  seemed  to  her  to  get  the  worst  of  the  argu- 
ment ;  at  any  rate,  he  generally  got  very  hot.  This, 
however,  might  have  been  because  Bob  was  so  cool, 
while  the  Colonel  was  so  hot-tempered. 

Bob  had  grown  up  very  handsome.  His  mouth 
was  strong  and  firm,  and  his  eyes  were  splendid. 
He  was  about  six  feet,  and  his  shoulders  were  as 
broad  as  the  Colonel's.  She  did  not  see  him  now 
as  often  as  she  did  when  he  was  a  boy,  but  it  was 
because  he  was  kept  so  busy  by  his  practice.  (He 
used  to  get  cases  in  three  or  four  counties  now,  and 
big  ones  at  that.)  She  knew,  however,  that  she  was 


Polly.  199 

just  as  good  a  friend  of  his  as  ever  ;  indeed,  she 
took  the  trouble  to  tell  herself  so.  A  compliment 
to  him  used  to  give  her  the  greatest  happiness,  and 
would  bring  deeper  roses  into  her  cheeks.  He  was 
the  greatest  favorite  with  everybody.  Torm  thought 
that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  like  him.  He 
had  long  ago  forgiven  him  his  many  pranks,  and 
said  "  he  was  the  grettest  gent'man  in  the  county 
skusin  him  [Torm]  and  the  Colonel,"  and  that  "  he 
al'ays  handled  heself  to  he  raisin',''  by  which  Torm 
made  indirect  reference  to  regular  donations  made 
to  him  by  the  aforesaid  u  gent'man,"  and  particu- 
larly to  an  especially  large  benefaction  then  lately 
conferred.  It  happened  one  evening  at  the  Col- 
onel's, after  dinner,  when  several  guests,  including 
Bob,  were  commenting  on  the  perfections  of  various 
ladies  who  were  visiting  in  the  neighborhood  that 
summer.  The  praises  were,  to  Torm's  mind,  some- 
what too  liberally  bestowed,  and  he  had  attempted 
to  console  himself  by  several  visits  to  the  pantry ; 
but  when  all  the  list  was  disposed  of,  and  Polly's 
name  had  not  been  mentioned,  endurance  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  he  suddenly  broke  in  with 
his  judgment  that  they  "  didn't  none  on  'em  hoi'  a 
candle  to  his  young  mistis,  whar  wuz  de  ve'y  pink 
an'  flow'r  on  'em  all." 

The  Colonel,  immensely  pleased,  ordered  him  out, 
with  a  promise  of  immediate  sale  on  the  morrow. 
But  that  evening,  as  he  got  on  his  horse,  Bob 


2OO  In  Ole   Virginia. 

slipped  into  his  hand  a  five-dollar  gold  piece,  and  he 
told  Polly  that  if  the  Colonel  really  intended  to  sell 
Torm,  just  to  send  him  over  to  his  house  ;  he  wanted 
the  benefit  of  his  judgment. 

Polly,  of  course,  did  not  understand  his  allusion, 
though  the  Colonel  had  told  her  of  Torm's  speech  ; 
but  Bob  had  a  rose  on  his  coat  when  he  came  out  of 
the  window,  and  the  long  pin  in  Polly's  bodice  was 
not  fastened  very  securely,  for  it  slipped,  and  she 
lost  all  her  other  roses,  and  he  had  to  stoop  and 
pick  them  up  for  her.  Perhaps,  though,  Bob  was 
simply  referring  to  his  having  saved  some  money, 
for  shortly  afterward  he  came  over  one  morning, 
and,  to  the  Colonel's  disgust,  paid  him  down  in  full 
the  amount  of  his  bond.  He  attempted  a  some- 
what formal  speech  of  thanks,  but  broke  down  in  it 
so  lamentably  that  two  juleps  were  ordered  out  by 
the  Colonel  to  reinstate  easy  relations  between 
them — an  effect  which  apparently  was  not  immedi- 
ately produced — and  the  Colonel  confided  to  Polly 
next  day  that  since  the  fellow  had  been  taken  up 
so  by  those  Loco-focos  he  was  not  altogether  as  he 
used  to  be. 

"  Why,  he  don't  even  drink  his  juleps  clear,"  the 
old  man  asserted,  as  if  he  were  charging  him  with, 
at  the  least,  misprision  of  treason.  "  However,"  he 
added,  softening  as  the  excuse  presented  itself  to 
his  mind,  "  that  may  be  because  his  mother  was 
always  so  opposed  to  it.  You  know  mint  never 


Polly.  201 

would  grow  there,"  he  pursued  to  Polly,  who  had 
heard  him  make  the  same  observation,  with  the 
same  astonishment,  a  hundred  times.  "  Strangest 
thing  I  ever  knew.  But  he's  a  confoundedly  clever 
fellow,  though,  Polly,"  he  continued,  with  a  sudden 
reviving  of  the  old-time  affection.  "  Damme  !  I  like 
him."  And,  as  Polly's  face  turned  a  sweet  carmine, 
added  :  "  Oh,  I  forgot,  Polly  ;  didn't  mean  to  swear; 
damme  if  I  did.  It  just  slipped  out.  Now  I  haven't 
sworn  before  for  a  week  ;  you  know  I  haven't.  Yes, 
of  course,  I  mean  except  then."  For  Polly,  with 
softly  fading  color,  was  reading  him  the  severest  of 
lectures  on  his  besetting  sin,  and  citing  an  ebullition 
over  Term's  failing  of  the  day  before.  "  Come  and 
sit  down  on  your  uncle's  knee  and  kiss  him  once  as 
a  token  of  forgiveness.  Just  one  more  squeeze,"  as 
the  fair  girlish  arms  were  twined  about  his  neck,  and 
the  sweetest  of  faces  was  pressed  against  his  own 
rough  cheek.  "  Polly,  do  you  remember,"  asked  the 
old  man,  holding  her  off  from  him  and  gazing  at  the 
girlish  face  fondly — "  do  you  remember  how,  when 
you  were  a  little  scrap,  you  used  to  climb  up  on  my 
knee  and  squeeze  me  just  once  more  to  save  that 
rascal.  Drinkwater,  and  how  you  used  to  say  you 
were  going  to  marry  Bob  and  me  when  you  were 
grown  up  ?  " 

Polly's  memory,  apparently,  was  not  very  good. 
That  evening,  however,  it  seemed  much  better, 
when,  dressed  all  in  soft  white,  and  with  cheeks 


2O2  In  Ole  Virginia. 

reflecting  the  faint  tints  of  the  sunset  clouds,  she 
was  strolling  through  the  old  flower-garden  with  a 
tall  young  fellow  whose  hat  sat  on  his  head  with  a 
jaunty  air,  and  who  was  so  very  careful  to  hold  aside 
the  long  branches  of  the  rose-bushes.  They  had 
somehow  gotten  to  recalling  each  in  turn  some  in- 
cident of  the  old  boy  and  girl  days.  Bob  knew  the 
main  facts  as  well  as  she,  but  Polly  remembered  the 
little  details  and  circumstances  of  each  incident 
best,  except  those  about  the  time  they  were  playing 
"  knucks  "  together.  Then  Bob  recollected  most. 
He  was  positive  that  when  she  cried  because  he 
shot  so  hard,  he  had  kissed  her  to  make  it  well. 
Curiously,  Polly's  recollection  failed  again,  and  was 
only  distinct  about  very  modern  matters.  She  re- 
membered with  remarkable  suddenness  that  it  was 
tea-time. 

They  were  away  down  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
and  her  lapse  of  memory  had  a  singular  effect  on 
Bob ;  for  he  turned  quite  pale,  and  insisted  that  she 
did  remember  it ;  and  then  said  something  about 
having  wanted  to  see  the  Colonel,  and  having  waited, 
and  did  so  strangely  that  if  that  rose-bush  had  not 
caught  her  dress,  he  might  have  done  something 
else.  But  the  rose-bush  caught  her  dress,  and  Polly, 
who  looked  really  scared  at  it,  or  something,  ran 
away  just  as  the  Colonel's  voice  was  heard  calling 
them  to  tea. 

Bob  was  very  silent  at  the  table,  and  when  he  left, 


Polly.  203 

the  Colonel  was  quite  anxious  about  him.  He 
asked  Polly  if  she  had  not  noticed  his  depression. 
Polly  had  not. 

"  That's  just  the  way  with  you  women,"  said  the 
Colonel,  testily.  "A  man  might  die  under  your 
very  eyes,  and  you  would  not  notice  it.  I  noticed 
it,  and  I  tell  you  the  fellow's  sick.  I  say  he's  sick !  " 
he  reiterated,  with  a  little  habit  he  had  acquired 
since  he  had  begun  to  grow  slightly  deaf.  u  I  shall 
advise  him  to  go  away  and  have  a  little  fling  some- 
where. He  works  too  hard,  sticks  too  close  at 
home.  He  never  goes  anywhere  except  here,  and 
he  don't  come  here  as  he  used  to  do.  He  ought  to 
get  married.  Advise  him  to  get  married.  Why 
don't  he  set  up  to  Sally  Brent  or  Malviny  Pegram  ? 
He's  a  likely  fellow,  and  they'd  both  take  him — fools 
if  they  didn't.  I  say  they  are  fools  if  they  didn't. 
What  say?"  * 

"  I  didn't  say  anything,"  said  Polly,  quietly  going 
to  the  piano. 

Her  music  often  soothed  the  Colonel  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  but  one  Bob  rode  over,  and  in- 
stead of  hooking  his  horse  to  the  fence  as  he  usually 
did,  he  rode  on  around  toward  the  stables.  He 
greeted  Torm,  who  was  in  the  backyard,  and  after 
extracting  some  preliminary  observations  from  him 
respecting  the  "  misery  in  his  back,"  he  elicited  the 
further  facts  that  Miss  Polly  was  going  down  the 
road  to  dine  at  the  Pegrams',  of  which  he  had  some 


2O4  In  Ole  Virginia. 

intimation  before,  and  that  the  Colonel  was  down 
on  the  river  farm,  but  would  be  back  about  two 
o'clock.  He  rode  on.  At  two  o'clock  promptly 
Bob  returned.  The  Colonel  had  not  yet  gotten 
home.  He,  however,  dismounted,  and,  tying  his 
horse,  went  in.  He  must  have  been  tired  of  sitting 
down,  for  he  now  walked  up  and  down  the  portico 
without  once  taking  a  seat. 

"  Marse  Bob  '11  walk  heself  to  death,"  observed 
Charity  to  Torm,  from  her  door. 

Presently  the  Colonel  came  in,  bluff,  warm,  and 
hearty.  He  ordered  dinner  from  the  front  gate  as 
he  dismounted,  and  juleps  from  the  middle  of  the 
walk,  greeted  Bob  with  a  cheeriness  which  that  gen- 
tleman in  vain  tried  to  imitate,  and  was  plumped 
down  in  his  great  split-bottomed  chair,  wiping  his 
red  head  with  his  still  redder  bandana  handkerchief, 
and  abusing  the  weather,  the  crops,  the  newspapers, 
and  his  overseer  before  Bob  could  get  breath  to 
make  a  single  remark.  When  he  did,  he  pitched  in 
on  the  weather.  That  is  a  safe  topic  at  all  times, 
and  it  was  astonishing  how  much  comfort  Bob  got 
out  of  it  this  afternoon.  He  talked  about  it  until 
dinner  began  to  come  in  across  the  yard,  the  blue 
china  dishes  gleaming  in  the  hands  of  Phcebe  and 
her  numerous  corps  of  ebon  and  mahogany  assis- 
tants, and  Torm  brought  out  the  juleps,  with  the 
mint  looking  as  if  it  were  growing  in  the  great  silver 
cans,  with  frosted  work  all  over  the  sides. 


Polly.  205 

Dinner  was  rather  a  failure,  so  far  as  Bob  was 
concerned.  Perhaps  he  missed  something  that 
usually  graced  that  table ;  perhaps  only  his  body 
was  there,  while  he  himself  was  down  at  Miss  Mal- 
viny  Pegram's ;  perhaps  he  had  gone  back  and  was 
unfastening  an  impertinent  rose-bush  from  a  filmy 
white  dress  in  the  summer  twilight ;  perhaps —  But 
anyhow  he  was  so  silent  and  abstracted  that  the 
Colonel  rallied  him  good-humoredly,  which  did  not 
help  matters.  They  had  adjourned  to  the  porch, 
and  had  been  there  for  some  time,  when  Bob 
broached  the  subject  of  his  visit. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  suddenly,  and  wholly  irrelevant 
to  everything  that  had  gone  before,  "  there  is  a 
matter  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about — a — ah — we — 
a  little  matter  of  great  importance  to — ah — myself." 
He  was  getting  very  red  and  confused,  and  the 
Colonel  instantly  divining  the  matter,  and  secretly 
flattering  himself,  and  determining  to  crow  over 
Polly,  said,  to  help  him  out : 

"  Aha,  you  rogue,  I  knew  it.  Come  up  to  the 
scratch,  sir.  So  you  are  caught  at  last.  Ah,  you 
sly  fox  !  It's  the  very  thing  you  ought  to  do.  Why, 
I  know  half  a  dozen  girls  who'd  jump  at  you.  I 
knew  it.  I  said  so  the  other  night.  Polly- 
Bob  was  utterly  off  his  feet  by  this  time.  "  I 
want  to  ask  your  consent  to  marry  Polly,"  he  blurted 
out  desperately.  "  I  love  her." 

u  The  devil  you  do  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.     He 


2o6  In  Ole  Virginia. 

could  say  no  more  ;  he  simply  sat  still,  in  speechless, 
helpless,  blank  amazement.  To  him  Polly  was  still 
a  little  girl  climbing  his  knees,  and  an  emperor  might 
not  aspire  to  her. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  said  Bob,  calm  enough  now — 
growing  cool  as  the  Colonel  became  excited.  "  I 
love  her,  and  I  want  her." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  can't  have  her,"  roared  the  Colonel, 
rising  from  his  seat  in  the  violence  of  his  refusal. 
He  looked  like  a  tawny  lion  whose  lair  had  been  in- 
vaded. 

Bob's  face  paled,  and  a  look  came  on  it  that  the 
Colonel  recalled  afterward,  and  which  he  did  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  seen  on  it  before,  except  once, 
when,  years  ago,  some  one  shot  one  of  his  dogs — 
a  look  made  up  of  anger  and  of  dogged  resolution. 
"  I  shall,"  he  said,  throwing  up  his  head  and  looking 
the  Colonel  straight  in  the  eyes,  his  voice  perfectly 
calm,  but  his  eyes  blazing,  the  mouth  drawn  close, 
and  the  lines  of  his  face  as  if  they  had  been  carved 
in  granite. 

"  I'll  be if  you  shall !  "  stormed  the  Colonel ; 

"the  King  of  England  should  not  have  her!"  and, 
turning,  he  stamped  into  the  house  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  him. 

Bob  walked  slowly  down  the  steps  and  around 
to  the  stables,  where  he  ordered  his  horse.  He 
rode  home  across  the  fields  without  a  word,  except, 
as  he  jumped  his  horse  over  the  line  fence,  "  I 


Polly.  207 

shall  have  her,"  he  repeated,  between  his  fast-set 
teeth. 

That  evening  Polly  came  home  all  unsuspecting 
anything  of  the  kind ;  the  Colonel  waited  until  she 
had  taken  off  her  things  and  come  down  in  her  fresh 
muslin  dress.  She  surpassed  in  loveliness  the  rose- 
buds that  lay  on  her  bosom,  and  the  impertinence 
that  could  dare  aspire  to  her  broke  over  the  old  man 
in  a  fresh  wave.  He  had  nursed  his  wrath  all  the 
evening. 

"  Polly  !  "  he  blurted  out,  suddenly  rising  with  a 
jerk  from  his  arm-chair,  and  unconsciously  striking 
an  attitude  before  the  astonished  girl,  "  do  you  want 
to  marry  Bob  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  cried  Polly,  utterly  shaken  out  of  her 
composure  by  the  suddenness  and  vehemence  of  the 
attack. 

"I  knew  it,"  declared  the  Colonel,  triumphantly. 
"It  was  a  piece  of  cursed  impertinence;"  and  he 
worked  himself  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  fury,  and  grew 
so  red  in  the  face,  that  poor  little  Polly,  who  had  to 
steer  between  two  dangers,  had  to  employ  all  her 
arts  to  soothe  the  old  man  and  keep  him  out  of  a  fit 
of  apoplexy.  She  learned  the  truth,  however,  and 
she  learned  something  which,  until  that  time,  she  had 
never  known ;  and  though,  as  she  kissed  her  uncle 
"  good-night,"  she  made  no  answer  to  his  final  shot 
of,  "  Well,  I'm  glad  we  are  not  going  to  have  any 
nonsense  about  the  fellow ;  I  have  made  up  my 


208  In  Ole  Virginia. 

mind,  and  we'll  treat  his  impudence  as  it  deserves," 
she  locked  her  door  carefully  when  she  was  within 
her  own  room,  and  the  next  morning  she  said  she 
had  a  headache. 

Bob  did  not  come  that  day.  If  the  Colonel  had 
not  been  so  hot-headed — that  is,  if  he  had  not 
been  a  man — things  would  doubtless  have  straight- 
ened themselves  out  in  some  of  those  mysterious 
ways  in  which  the  hardest  knots  into  which  two 
young  people's  affairs  contrive  to  get  untangle 
themselves ;  but  being  a  man,  he  must  needs,  man- 
like, undertake  to  manage  according  to  his  own  plan, 
which  is  always  the  wrong  one. 

When,  therefore,  he  announced  to  Polly  at  the 
breakfast-table  that  morning  that  she  would  have  no 
further  annoyance  from  that  fellow's  impertinence — 
for  he  had  written  him  a  note  apologizing  for  leav- 
ing him  abruptly  in  his  own  house  the  day  before, 
but  forbidding  him,  in  both  their  names,  to  continue 
his  addresses,  or  indeed  to  put  his  foot  on  the  place 
again — he  fully  expected  to  see  Polly's  face  brighten, 
and  to  receive  her  approbation  and  thanks.  What, 
then,  was  his  disappointment  to  see  her  face  grow 
distinctly  white.  All  she  said  was,  "  Oh,  uncle  !  " 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  day  was  Sunday,  and 
that  the  Colonel  went  with  her  to  church  (which  she 
insisted  on  attending  notwithstanding  her  headache), 
and  was  by  when  she  met  Bob.  They  came  on  each 
other  suddenly.  Bob  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  like 


Polly.  209 

a  soldier  on  review,  erect,  expectant,  and  a  little 
pale.  The  Colonel,  who  had  almost  forgotten  his 
"  impertinence,"  and  was  about  to  shake  hands  with 
him  as  usual,  suddenly  remembered  it,  and  drawing 
himself  up,  stepped  to  the  other  side  of  Polly,  and 
handed  her  by  the  younger  gentleman  as  if  he  were 
protecting  her  from  a  mob.  Polly,  who  had  been 
looking  anxiously  everywhere  but  in  the  right  place, 
meaning  to  give  him  a  smile  which  would  set  things 
straight,  caught  his  eye  only  at  that  second,  and  felt 
rather  than  saw  the  change  in  Bob's  attitude  and 
manner.  She  tried  to  give  him  the  smile,  but  it 
died  in  her  eyes,  and  even  after  her  back  was  turned 
she  was  sensible  of  his  defiance  ;  and  she  went  into 
church,  and  dropped  down  on  her  knees  in  the  far 
end  of  her  pew,  with  her  little  heart  needing  all  the 
consolations  of  her  religion. 

The  man  she  prayed  hardest  for  did  not  come 
into  church  that  day.  Things  went  very  badly  after 
that,  and  the  knots  got  tighter  and  tighter.  An  at- 
tempt which  Bob  made  to  loosen  them  failed  disas- 
trously, and  the  Colonel,  who  was  the  best-hearted 
man  in  the  world,  but  whose  prejudices  were  made 
of  wrought  iron,  took  it  into  his  head  that  Bob  had 
insulted  him,  and  Polly's  indirect  efforts  at  pacifica- 
tion aroused  him  to  such  an  extent  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  almost  hard  with  her.  He 
conceived  the  absurd  idea  that  she  was  sacrificing 
herself  for  Bob  on  account  of  her  friendship  for  him, 
14 


2IO  In  Ole   Virginia. 

and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  protect  her  against  her- 
self, which,  man-like,  he  proceeded  to  do  in  his  own 
fashion,  to  poor  little  Polly's  great  distress. 

She  was  devoted  to  her  uncle,  and  knew  the 
strength  of  his  affection  for  her.  On  the  other  hand, 
Bob  and  she  had  been  friends  so  long.  She  never 
could  remember  the  time  when  she  did  not  have 
Bob.  But  he  had  never  said  a  word  of  love  to  her 
in  his  life. 

On  that  evening  in  the  garden  she  had  known  it 
just  as  well  as  if  he  had  fallen  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet.  She  knew  it  was  just  because  he  had  owed  her 
uncle  the  money  ;  and  oh  !  if  she  just  hadn't  gotten 
frightened  ;  and  oh  !  if  her  uncle  just  hadn't  done 
it ;  and  oh  !  she  was  so  unhappj7" !  The  poor  little 
thing,  in  her  own  dainty,  white-curtained  room, 
where  were  the  books  and  things  he  had  given  her, 
and  the  letters  he  had  written  her,  used  to — but  that 
is  a  secret.  Anyhow,  it  was  not  because  he  was  gone. 
She  knew  that  was  not  the  reason — indeed,  she  very 
often  said  to  herself — but  because  he  had  been 
treated  so  unjustly,  and  suffered  so,  and  she  had 
done  it  all.  And  she  used  to  introduce  many  new 
petitions  into  her  prayers,  in  which,  if  there  was  not 
any  name  expressed,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  under- 
stood, and  the  blessings  would  reach  him  just  the 
same.  The  summer  had  gone,  and  the  Indian  sum- 
mer had  come  in  its  place,  hazy,  dreamy,  and  sad. 
It  always  made  her  melancholy,  and  this  year, 


Polly.  211 

although  the  weather  was  perfect,  she  was  affected, 
she  said,  by  the  heat,  and  did  not  go  out  of  doors 
much.  So  presently  her  cheeks  were  not  as  bloom- 
ing as  they  had  been,  and  even  her  great  eyes  lost 
some  of  their  lustre;  at  least,  Charity  thought  so, 
and  said  so  too,  not  only  to  Polly,  but  to  her  master, 
whom  she  scared  half  to  death ;  and  who,  notwith- 
standing that  Dr.  Stopper  was  coming  every  other 
day  to  see  a  patient  on  the  plantation,  and  that  the 
next  day  was  the  time  for  his  regular  visit,  put  a  boy 
on  a  horse  that  night  and  sent  him  with  a  note  urg- 
ing the  doctor  to  come  the  next  morning  to  break- 
fast. The  doctor  came,  and  spent  the  day  :  ex- 
amined Polly's  lungs  and  heart,  prescribed  out-door 
exercise,  and  left  something  less  than  a  bushel- 
basketful  of  medicines  for  her  to  take. 

Polly  was,  at  the  time  of  his  visit,  in  a  very  excited 
state,  for  the  Colonel  had,  with  a  view  of  soothing 
her,  the  night  before  delivered  a  violent  philippic 
against  marriage  in  general,  and  in  particular  against 
marriage  with  "  impudent  young  puppies  who  did 
not  know  their  places; "  and  he  had  proposed  an  ex- 
tensive tour,  embracing  all  the  United  States  and 
Canada,  and  intended  to  cover  the  entire  winter  and 
spring  following.  Polly,  who  had  stood  as  much  as 
she  could  stand,  finally  rebelled,  and  had  with  flash- 
ing eyes  and  mantling  cheeks  espoused  Bob's  cause 
with  a  courage  and  dash  which  had  almost  routed 
the  old  Colonel.  "  Not  that  he  was  anything  to  her 


212  In  Ole  Virginia. 

except  a  friend,"  she  was  most  careful  to  explain, 
but  she  was  tired  of  hearing  her  "  friend  "  assailed, 
and  she  thought  that  it  was  the  highest  compliment  a 
man  could  pay  a  woman,  etc.,  etc.,  for  all  of  which 
she  did  a  great  deal  of  blushing  in  her  own  room 
afterward. 

Thus  it  happened  that  she  was  both  excited  and 
penitent  the  next  day,  and  thinking  to  make  some 
atonement,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  pre- 
scribed exercise,  which  would  excuse  her  from  tak- 
ing the  medicines,  she  filled  a  little  basket  with 
goodies  to  take  old  Aunt  Betty  at  the  Far  Quarters; 
and  thus  it  happened  that,  as  she  was  coming  back 
along  the  path  that  ran  down  the  meadow  on  the 
other  side  of  the  creek,  which  was  the  dividing  line 
between  the  two  plantations,  and  was  almost  at  the 
foot-bridge  that  Somebody  had  made  for  her  so  care- 
fully with  logs  cut  out  of  his  own  woods,  and  the 
long  shadows  of  the  willows  made  it  gloomy,  and 
everything  was  so  still  that  she  had  grown  very 
lonely  and  unhappy — thus  it  happened  that  just  as 
she  was  thinking  how  kind  he  had  been  about  mak- 
ing the  bridge  and  hand-rail  so  strong,  and  about 
everything,  and  how  cruel  he  must  think  her,  and 
how  she  would  never  see  him  any  more  as  she  used 
to  do,  she  turned  the  clump  of  willows  to  step  up  on 
the  log,  and  there  he  was  standing  on  the  bridge 
just  before  her,  looking  down  into  her  eyes.  She 
tried  to  get  by  him — she  remembered  that  after- 


Polly.  2 1 3 

ward — but  he  was  so  mean ;  it  was  always  a  little 
confused  in  her  memory,  and  she  could  never  recall 
exactly  how  it  was.  She  was  sure,  however,  that  it 
was  because  he  was  so  pale  that  she  said  it,  and  that 
she  did  not  begin  to  cry  until  afterward,  and  that  it 
was  because  he  would  not  listen  to  her  explanation  ; 
and  that  she  didn't  let  him  do  it,  she  could  not  help 
it,  and  she  did  not  know  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder. 

Anyhow,  when  she  got  home  that  evening  her 
improvement  was  so  apparent  that  the  Colonel  called 
Charity  in  to  note  it,  and  declared  that  Virginia 
country  doctors  were  the  finest  in  the  world,  and 
that  Stopper  was  the  greatest  doctor  in  the  State. 
The  change  was  wonderful  indeed ;  and  the  old  gilt 
mirror  with  its  gauze-covered  frame  would  never 
have  known  for  the  sad-eyed  Polly  of  the  day  before 
the  bright,  happy  little  maiden  that  stood  before  it 
now  and  smiled  at  the  beaming  face  which  dimpled 
at  its  own  content.  Old  Betty's  was  a  protracted 
pleurisy,  and  the  good  things  Polly  carried  her  daily 
did  not  tend  to  shorten  the  sickness.  Ever  after- 
ward she  blessed  the  Lord  for  "  dat  chile  "  when- 
ever Polly's  name  was  mentioned.  Had  she  known 
how  sympathetic  Bob  was  during  this  period,  she 
would  doubtless  have  included  him  in  her  benison. 

But  although  he  was  inspecting  that  bridge  every 
afternoon  regularly,  notwithstanding  Polly's  oft-re- 
iterated wish  and  express  orders  as  regularly  de- 
clared, no  one  knew  a  word  of  all  this.  And  it  was 


214  In  Ole   Virginia. 

a  bow  drawn  at  a  venture  when,  on  the  evening  that 
Polly  had  tried  to  carry  out  her  engagement  to  bring 
her  uncle  around,  the  old  man  said,  "  Why,  hoity- 
toity  !  the  young  rascal's  cause  seems  to  be  thriv- 
ing." She  was  so  confident  of  her  success  that  she 
was  not  prepared  for  failure,  and  it  struck  her  like  a 
fresh  blow ;  and  though  she  did  not  cry  until  she 
got  into  her  own  room,  when  she  got  there  she 
threw  herself  on  the  bed  and  cried  herself  to  sleep. 
"  It  was  so  cruel  in  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  to 
desire  me  never  to  speak  to  him  again  !  And,  oh  !  if 
he  should  really  catch  him  on  the  place  and  shoot 
him ! " 

The  pronouns  in  our  language  were  probably  in- 
vented by  young  women.  The  headache  Polly  had 
the  next  morning  was  not  invented.  Poor  little 
thing !  her  last  hope  was  gone.  She  determined  to 
bid  Bob  good-by,  and  never  see  him  again. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  this  on  her  knees, 
so  she  knew  she  was  right.  The  pain  it  cost  her 
satisfied  her  that  it  was  right.  She  was  firmly  re- 
solved when  she  set  out  that  afternoon  to  see  old 
Betty,  who  was,  in  everybody's  judgment  except 
her  own,  quite  convalescent,  and  whom  Dr.  Stopper 
pronounced  entirely  well.  She  wavered  a  little  in 
her  resolution  when,  descending  the  path  along  the 
willows,  which  were  leafless  now,  she  caught  sight  of 
a  tall  figure  loitering  easily  up  the  meadow,  and  she 
abandoned — that  is,  she  forgot — it  altogether  when, 


Polly.  215 

having  doubtfully  suggested  it,  she  was  suddenly 
enfolded  in  a  pair  of  strong  arms,  and  two  gray  eyes, 
lighting  a  handsome  face  strong  with  the  self-confi- 
dence v/hich  women  love,  looked  down  into  hers. 
Then  he  proposed  it ! 

Her  heart  almost  stood  still  at  his  boldness.  But 
he  was  so  strong,  so  firm,  so  reasonable,  so  self-re- 
liant, and  yet  so  gentle,  she  could  not  but  listen  to 
him.  Still  she  refused — and  she  never  did  consent ; 
she  forbade  him  ever  to  think  of  it  again.  Then  she 
begged  him  never  to  come  there  again,  and  told  him 
of  her  uncle's  threats,  and  of  her  fears  for  him ;  and 
then,  when  he  laughed  at  them,  she  begged  him 
never,  never,  under  any  circumstances,  to  take  any 
notice  of  what  her  uncle  might  do  or  say,  but  rather 
to  stand  still  and  be  shot  dead  ;  and  then,  when 
Bob  promised  this,  she  burst  into  tears,  and  he  had 
to  hold  her  and  comfort  her  like  a  little  girl. 

It  was  pretty  bad  after  that,  and  but  for  Polly's 
out-door  exercise  she  would  undoubtedly  have  suc- 
cumbed. It  seemed  as  if  something  had  come  be- 
tween her  and  her  uncle.  She  no  longer  went  about 
singing  like  a  bird.  She  suffered  under  the  sense  of 
being  misunderstood,  and  it  was  so  lonely !  He  too 
was  oppressed  by  it.  Even  Torm  shared  in  it,  and 
his  expositions  assumed  a  cast  terrific  in  the  last 
degree.  It  was  now  December. 

One  evening  it  culminated.  The  weather  had 
been  too  bad  for  Polly  to  go  out,  and  she  was  sick. 


216  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Finally  Stopper  was  sent  for.  Polly,  who,  to  use 
Charity's  expression,  was  "  pestered  till  she  was  frac- 
tious," rebelled  flatly,  and  refused  to  keep  her  bed 
or  to  take  the  medicines  prescribed.  Chanty  backed 
her.  Torm  got  drunk.  The  Colonel  was  in  a  fume, 
and  declared  his  intention  to  sell  Torm  next  morn- 
ing, as  usual,  and  to  take  Charity  and  Polly  and  go 
to  Europe.  This  was  well  enough ;  but  to  Polly's 
consternation,  when  she  came  to  breakfast  next 
morning,  she  found  that  the  old  man's  plans  had 
ripened  into  a  scheme  to  set  out  on  the  very  next 
day  for  Louisiana  and  New  Orleans,  where  he  pro- 
posed to  spend  the  winter  looking  after  some  plan- 
tations she  had,  and  showing  her  something  of  the 
world.  Polly  remonstrated,  rebelled,  cajoled.  It 
was  all  in  vain.  Stopper  had  seriously  frightened 
the  old  man  about  her  health,  and  he  was  adamant. 
Preparations  were  set  on  foot ;  the  brown  hair 
trunks,  with  their  lines  of  staring  brass  tacks,  were 
raked  out  and  dusted  ;  the  Colonel  got  into  a  fever, 
ordered  up  all  the  negroes  in  the  yard,  and  gave  in- 
structions from  the  front  door,  like  a  major-general 
reviewing  his  troops;  got  Torm,  Charity,  and  all  the 
others  into  a  wild  flutter;  attempted  to  superintend 
Polly's  matters ;  made  her  promises  of  fabulous 
gifts;  became  reminiscent,  and  told  marvellous 
stories  of  his  old  days,  which  Torm  corroborated ; 
and  so  excited  Polly  and  the  plantation  generally 
that  from  old  Betty,  who  came  from  the  Far  Quarters 


Polly.  f  217 

for  .the  purpose  of  taking  it  in,  down  to  the  blackest 
little  dot  on  the  place,  there  was  not  one  who  did  not 
get  into  a  wild  whirl,  and  talk  as  if  they  were  all  going 
to  New  Orleans  the  next  morning,  with  Joe  Rattler 
on  the  boot.  Polly  had,  after  a  stout  resistance, 
surrendered  to  her  fate,  and  packed  her  modest 
trunk  with  very  mingled  feelings.  Under  other  cir- 
cumstances she  would  have  enjoyed  the  trip  im- 
mensely ;  but  she  felt  now  as  if  it  were  parting  from 
Bob  forever.  Her  heart  was  in  her  throat  all  day, 
and  even  the  excitement  of  packing  could  not  drive 
away  the  feeling.  She  'knew  she  would  never  see 
him  again.  She  tried  to  work  out  what  the  end 
would  be.  Would  he  die,  or  would  he  marry  Mal- 
viny  Pegram  ?  Every  one  said  she  would  just  suit 
him,  and  she'd  certainly  marry  him  if  he  asked  her. 
The  sun  was  shining  over  the  western  woods.  Bob 
rode  down  that  way  in  the  afternoon,  even  when  it 
was  raining;  he  had  told  her  so.  He  would  think 
it  cruel  of  her  to  go  away  so,  and  never  even  let  him 
know.  She  would  at  least  go  and  tell  him  good-by. 
So  she  did. 

Bob's  face  paled  suddenly  when  she  told  him  all, 
and  that  look  which  she  had  not  seen  often  before 
settled  on  it.  Then  he  took  her  hand  and  began  to 
explain  everything  to  her.  He  told  her  that  he  had 
loved  her  all  her  life ;  showed  her  how  she  had  in- 
spired him  to  work  for  and  win  every  success  that 
he  had  achieved  ;  how  it  had  been  her  work  even 


218  In  Ole  Virginia. 

more  than  his.  Then  he  laid  before  her  the  life 
plans  he  had  formed,  and  proved  how  they  were  all 
for  her,  and  for  her  only.  He  made  it  all  so  clear, 
and  his  voice  was  so  confident,  and  his  face  so  earn- 
est, as  he  pleaded  and  proved  it  step  by  step,  that 
she  felt,  as  she  leaned  against  him  and  he  clasped 
her  closely,  that  he  was  right,  and  that  she  could  not 
part  from  him. 

That  evening  Polly  was  unusually  silent ;  but  the 
Colonel  thought  she  had  never  been  so  sweet.  She 
petted  him  until  he  swore  that  no  man  on  earth  was 
worthy  of  her,  and  that  no'ne  should  ever  have  her. 
After  tea  she  went  to  his  room  to  look  over  his 
clothes  (her  especial  work),  and  would  let  no  one, 
not  even  her  mammy,  help  her;  and  when  the  Col- 
onel insisted  on  coming  in  to  tell  her  some  more 
concerning  the  glories  of  New  Orleans  in  his  day, 
she  finally  put  him  out  and  locked  the  door  on  him. 
She  was  very  strange  all  the  evening.  As  they  were 
to  start  the  next  morning,  the  Colonel  was  for  retir- 
ing early;  but  Polly  would  not  go;  she  loitered 
around,  hung  about  the  old  fellow,  petted  him,  sat 
on  his  knee  and  kissed  him,  until  he  was  forced  to 
insist  on  her  going  to  bed.  Then  she  said  good- 
night, and  astonished  the  Colonel  by  throwing  her- 
self into  his  arms  and  bursting  out  crying. 

The  old  man  soothed  her  with  caresses  and  baby 
talk,  such  as  he  used  to  comfort  her  with  when  she 
was  a  little  girl,  and  when  she  became  quiet  he 


Polly.  219 

handed  her  to  her  door  as  if  she  had  been  a  duch- 
ess. The  house  was  soon  quiet,  except  that  once 
the  Colonel  heard  Polly  walking  in  her  room,  and 
mentally  determined  to  chide  her  for  sitting  up  so 
late.  He,  however,  drifted  off  from  the  subject 
when  he  heard  some  of  his  young  mules  galloping 
around  the  yard,  and  he  made  a  sleepy  resolve  to 
sell  them  all,  or  to  dismiss  his  overseer  for  letting 
them  get  out  of  the  lot.  Before  he  had  quite  deter- 
mined which  he  should  do,  he  dropped  off  to  sleep 
again. 

It  was  possibly  about  this  time  that  a  young  man 
lifted  into  her  saddle  a  dark-habited  little  figure, 
whose  face  shone  very  white  in  the  starlight,  and 
whose  tremulous  voice  would  have  suggested  a  re- 
fusal had  it  not  been  drowned  in  the  deep,  earnest 
tone  of  her  lover.  Although  she  declared  that  she 
could  not  think  of  doing  it,  she  had  on  her  hat  and 
furs  and  riding-habit  when  Bob  came.  She  did,  in- 
deed, really  beg  him  to  go  away ;  but  a  few  minutes 
later  a  pair  of  horses  cantered  down  the  avenue  to- 
ward the  lawn  gate,  which  shut  with  a  bang  that  so 
frightened  the  little  lady  on  the  bay  mare  that  the 
young  man  found  it  necessary  to  lean  over  and  throw 
a  steadying  arm  around  her. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Polly  saw  the  sun 
rise  in  North  Carolina,  and  a  few  hours  later  a  gentle- 
voiced  young  clergyman,  whose  sweet-faced  wife 
was  wholly  carried  away  by  Polly's  beauty,  received 


22O  In  Ole  Virginia. 

under  protest  Bob's  only  gold  piece,  a  coin  which 
he  twisted  from  his  watch-chain  with  the  promise  to 
quadruple  it  if  he  would  preserve  it. 

When  Charity  told  the  Colonel  next  morning  that 
Polly  was  gone,  the  old  man  for  the  first  time  in  fifty 
years  turned  perfectly  white.  Then  he  fell  into  a 
consuming  rage,  and  swore  until  Charity  would  not 
have  been  much  surprised  to  see  the  devil  appear  in 
visible  shape  and  claim  him  on  the  spot.  He  cursed 
Bob,  cursed  himself,  Torm,  Charity,  arid  the  entire 
female  sex  individually  and  collectively,  and  then, 
seized  by  a  new  idea,  ordered  his  horse,  that  he 
might  pursue  the  runaways,  threatened  an  imme- 
diate sale  of  his  whole  plantation,  and  the  instan- 
taneous death  of  Bob,  and  did  in  fact  get  down  his 
great  brass-mounted  pistols,  and  lay  them  by  him  as 
he  made  Torm,  Charity,  and  a  half-dozen  younger 
house-servants  dress  him. 

Dressing  and  shaving  occupied  him  about  an 
hour — he  always  averred  that  a  gentleman  could 
not  dress  like  a  gentleman  in  less  time — and,  still 
breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter,  he  marched 
out  of  his  room,  making  Torm  and  Chanty  follow 
him,  each  with  a  pistol.  Something  prompted  him 
to  stop  and  inspect  them  in  the  hall.  Taking  first 
one  and  then  the  other,  he  examined  them  curi- 
ously. 

"  Well,   I'll  be ! "  he  said,  dryly,  and  flung 

both  of  them  crashing  through  the  window.     Turn- 


Polly.  221 

ing,  he  ordered  waffles  and  hoe-cakes  for  breakfast, 
and  called  for  the  books  to  have  prayers. 

Polly  had  utilized  the  knowledge  she  had  gained 
as  a  girl,  and  had  unloaded  both  pistols  the  night 
before,  and  rammed  the  balls  down  again  without 
powder,  so  as  to  render  them  harmless. 

By  breakfast  time  Torm  was  in  a  state  of  such 
advanced  intoxication  that  he  was  unable  to  walk 
through  the  back  yard  gate,  and  the  Colonel  was 
forced  to  content  himself  with  sending  by  Charity 
a  message  that  he  would  get  rid  of  him  early  the 
next  morning.  He  straitly  enjoined  Charity  to  tell 
him,  and  she  as  solemnly  promised.  "Yes,  suh,  / 
gwi'  tell  him,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint  tone  of  being 
wounded  at  his  distrust ;  and  she  did. 

She  needed  an  outlet. 

Things  got  worse.  The  Colonel  called  up  the 
overseer  and  gave  new  orders,  as  if  he  proposed  to 
change  everything.  He  forbade  any  mention  of 
Polly's  name,  and  vowed  that  he  would  send  for  Mr. 
Steep,  his  lawyer,  and  change  his  will  to  spite  all 
creation.  This  humor,  instead  of  wearing  off, 
seemed  to  grow  worse  as  the  time  stretched  on,  and 
Torm  actually  grew  sober  in  the  shadow  that  had 
fallen  on  the  plantation.  The  Colonel  had  Polly's 
room  nailed  up  and  shut  himself  up  in  the  house. 

The  negroes  discussed  the  condition  of  affairs  in 
awed  undertones,  and  watched  him  furtively  when- 
ever he  passed.  Various  opinions  by  turns  prevailed. 


222  In  Ole  Virginia. 

Aunt  Betty,  who  was  regarded  with  veneration, 
owing  partly  to  the  interest  the  lost  Polly  had  taken 
in  her  illness,  and  partly  to  her  great  age  (to  which 
she  annually  added  three  years)  prophesied  that  he 
was  going  to  die  "  in  torments,"  just  like  some  old 
uncle  of  his  whom  no  one  else  had  ever  heard  of 
until  now,  but  who  was  raked  up  by  her  to  serve  as 
a  special  example.  The  chief  resemblance  seemed 
to  be  a  certain  "rankness  in  cussin'." 

Things  were  certainly  going  badly,  and  day  by 
day  they  grew  worse.  The  Colonel  became  more 
and  more  morose. 

"  He  don'  even  quoil  no  mo',"  Torm  complained 
pathetically  to  Charity.  "  He  jes  set  still  and 
study.  I  'feard  he  gwine  'stracted." 

It  was,  indeed,  lamentable.  It  was  accepted  on 
the  plantation  that  Miss  Polly  had  gone  for  good — 
some  said  down  to  Louisiana — and  would  never 
come  back  any  more.  The  prevailing  impression 
was  that,  if  she  did,  the  Colonel  would  certainly  kill 
Bob.  Torm  had  not  a  doubt  of  it. 

Thus  matters  stood  three  days  before  Christmas. 
The  whole  plantation  was  plunged  in  gloom.  It 
would  be  the  first  time  since  Miss  Polly  was  a  baby 
that  they  had  not  had  "  a  big  Christmas."  Torm's 
lugubrious  countenance  one  morning  seemed  to 
shock  the  Colonel  out  of  his  lethargy.  He  asked 
how  many  days  there  would  be  before  Christmas, 
and  learning  that  there  were  but  three,  he  ordered 


Polly.  223 

preparations  to  be  made  for  a  great  feast  and  a  big 
time  generally.  He  had  the  wood-pile  replenished 
as  usual,  got  up  his  presents,  and  superintended  the 
Christmas  operations  himself,  as  he  used  to  do.  But 
it  was  sad  work,  and  when  Torm  and  Charity  retired 
Christmas  Eve  night,  although  Torm  had  imbibed 
plentifully,  and  the  tables  were  all  spread  for  the 
great  dinner  for  the  servants  next  day,  there  was  no 
peace  in  Term's  discourse ;  it  was  all  of  wrath  and 
judgment  to  come.  He  had  just  gone  to  sleep 
when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Who  dat  out  dyah?"  called  Charity.  "  You 
niggers  better  go  'long  to  bed." 

The  knock  was  repeated. 

"Who  dat  out  dyah,  I  say?"  queried  Charity, 
testily.  "  Whyn't  you  go  'long  'way  from  dat  do'  ?  " 

Torm  was  hard  to  wake,  but  at  length  he  got  up 
and  moved  slowly  to  the  door,  grumbling  to  himself 
all  the  time. 

When  finally  he  undid  the  latch,  Charity,  who  was 
in  bed,  heard  him  say,  ''Well,  name  o'  Gord  !  good 
Gord  A'mighty !  "  and  burst  into  a  wild  explosion 
of  laughter. 

In  a  second  she  too  was  outside  of  the  door,  and 
had  Polly  in  her  arms,  laughing,  jumping,  hugging, 
and  kissing  her,  while  Torm  executed  a  series  of 
caracoles  around  them. 

"Whar  Marse  Bob?  "  asked  both  negroes,  finally, 
in  a  breath. 


224  In  Ole   Virginia. 

"  Hello,  Torm  !  How  are  you,  Mam*  Charity  ?  " 
called  that  gentleman,  cheerily,  coming  up  from 
where  he  had  been  fastening  the  horses ;  and  Char- 
ity, suddenly  mindful  of  her  peculiar  appearance 
and  the  frosty  air,  "  scuttled  "  into  the  house,  con- 
veying her  young  mistress  with  her. 

Presently  she  came  out  dressed,  and  invited  Bob 
in  too.  She  insisted  on  giving  them  something  to 
eat;  but  they  had  been  to  supper,  and  Polly  was 
much  too  excited  hearing  about  her  uncle  to  eat 
anything.  She  cried  a  little  at  Charity's  descrip- 
tion of  him,  which  she  tried  to  keep  Bob  from  see- 
ing, but  he  saw  it,  and  had  to — however,  when 
they  got  ready  to  go  home,  Polly  insisted  on  going 
to  the  yard  and  up  on  the  porch,  and  when  there, 
she  actually  kissed  the  window-blind  of  the  room 
whence  issued  a  muffled  snore  suggestive  at  least  of 
some  degree  of  forgetfulness.  She  wanted  Bob  to 
kiss  it  too,  but  that  gentleman  apparently  found 
something  else  more  to  his  taste,  and  her  entreaty 
was  drowned  in  another  sound. 

Before  they  remounted  their  horses  Polly  carried 
Bob  to  the  greenhouse,  where  she  groped  around  in 
the  darkness  for  something,  to  Bob's  complete  mys- 
tification. "  Doesn't  it  smell  sweet  in  here?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  don't  smell  anything  but  that  mint  bed  you've 
been  walking  on,"  he  laughed. 

As  they  rode  off,  leaving  Torm  and  Chanty  stand- 


Polly.  225 

ing  in  the  road,  the  last  thing  Polly  said  was,  "  Now 
be  sure  you  tell  him — nine  o'clock." 

"  Umm !  I  know  he  gwi'  sell  me  den  sho 
'nough,"  said  Torm,  in  a  tone  of  conviction,  as  the 
horses  cantered  away  in  the  frosty  night. 

Once  or  twice,  as  they  galloped  along,  Bob  made 
some  allusion  to  the  mint  bed  on  which  Polly  had 
stepped,  to  which  she  made  no  reply.  But  as  he 
helped  her  down  at  her  own  door,  he  asked,  "  What 
in  the  world  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  Mint,"  said  she,  with  a  little  low,  pleased  laugh. 

By  light  next  morning  it  was  known  all  over  the 
plantation  that  Miss  Polly  had  returned.  The  re- 
joicing was  clouded  by  the  fear  that  nothing  would 
come  of  it. 

In  Charity's  house  it  was  decided  that  Torm 
should  break  the  news.  Torm  was  doubtful  on  the 
point  as  the  time  drew  near,  but  Charity's  mind 
never  wavered.  Finally  he  went  in  with  his  mas- 
ter's shaving-water,  having  first  tried  to  establish 
his  courage  by  sundry  pulls  at  a  black  bottle.  He 
essayed  three  times  to  deliver  the  message,  but  each 
time  his  courage  failed,  and  he  hastened  out  under 
pretence  of  the  water  having  gotten  cold.  The  last 
time  he  attracted  Charity's  attention. 

"  Name  o'  Gord,  Torm,  you  gwine  to  seal' 
hawgs?"  she  asked,  sarcastically. 

The  next  time  he  entered  the  Colonel  was  in  a 
fume  of  impatience,  so  he  had  to  fix  the  water.  He 
15 


226  In  Ole  Virginia. 

set  down  the  can,  and  bustled  about  with  hypocrit- 
ical industry.  The  Colonel  was  almost  through ; 
Torm  retreated  to  the  door.  As  his  master  finished, 
he  put  his  hand  on  the  knob,  and  turning  it,  said, 
"  Miss  Polly  come  home  larse  night ;  sh*  say  she 
breakfast  at  nine  o'clock." 

Slapbang !  came  the  shaving-can,  smashing  against 
the  door,  just  as  he  dodged  out,  and  the  roar  of  the 
Colonel  followed  him  across  the  hall. 

When  finally  their  master  appeared  on  the  portico, 
Torm  and  Charity  were  watching  in  some  doubt 
whether  he  would  not  carry  out  on  the  spot  his  long- 
threatened  purpose.  He  strode  up  and  down  the 
long  porch,  evidently  in  great  excitement. 

"He's  tumble  dis  mornin',"  said  Torm;  "he 
th'owed  de  whole  kittle  o'  b'ilin'  water  at  me." 

"  Pity  he  didn'  seal'  you  to  death,"  said  his  wife, 
sympathizingly.  She  thought  Term's  awkward- 
ness had  destroyed  Polly's  last  chance.  Torm  re- 
sorted to  his  black  bottle,  and  proceeded  to  talk 
about  the  lake  of  brimstone  and  fire. 

Up  and  down  the  portico  strode  the  old  Colonel. 
His  horse  was  at  the  rack,  where  he  was  always 
brought  before  breakfast.  (For  twenty  years  he  had 
probably  never  missed  a  morning.)  Finally  he 
walked  down,  and,  mounting,  rode  off  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  to  that  whence  his  invitation  had  come. 
Charity,  looking  out  of  her  door,  inserted  into  her 
diatribe  against "  all  wuthless,  drunken,  fool  niggers  " 


Polly.  227 

a  parenthesis  to  the  effect  that  "  Ef  Marster  meet 
Marse  Bob  dis  mornin',  de  don'  be  a  hide  nor  hyah 
left  o'nyah  one  on  'em  ;  an'  dat  lamb  over  dyah 
maybe  got  oystchers  waitin*  for  him  too."  Torm 
was  so  much  impressed  that  he  left  Charity  and  went 
out  of  doors. 

The  Colonel  rode  down  the  plantation  road,  his 
great  gray  horse  quivering  with  life  in  the  bright 
winter  sunlight.  He  gave  him  the  rein,  and  he 
turned  down  a  cross-road  which  led  out  of  the  plan- 
tation into  the  main  road.  Mechanically  he  opened 
the  gate  and  rode  out.  Before  he  knew  where  he 
was  he  was  through  the  wood,  and  his  horse  had 
stopped  at  the  next  gate — the  gate  of  Bob's  place. 
The  house  stood  out  bright  and  plain  among  the 
yard  trees  ;  lines  of  blue  smoke  curled  up  almost 
straight  from  the  chimneys  ;  and  he  could  see  two 
or  three  negroes  running  backward  and  forward  be- 
tween the  kitchen  and  the  house.  The  sunlight 
glistened  on  something  in  the  hand  of  one  of  them, 
and  sent  a  ray  of  dazzling  light  all  the  way  to  the 
old  man.  He  knew  it  was  a  plate  or  a  dish.  He 
took  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it ;  it  was  five 
minutes  to  nine  o'clock.  He  started  to  turn  around 
to  go  home.  As  he  did  so  the  memory  of  all  the 
past  swept  over  him,  and  of  the  wrong  that  had  been 
done  him.  He  would  go  in  and  show  them  his  con- 
tempt for  them  by  riding  in  and  straight  out  again  ; 
and  he  actually  unlatched  the  gate  and  went  in. 


228  In  Ole  Virginia, 

As  he  rode  across  the  field  he  recalled  all  that  Polly 
had  been  to  him  from  the  time  when  she  had  first 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  him ;  all  the  little  ways 
by  which  she  had  brought  back  his  youth,  and  had 
made  his  house  home,  and  his  heart  soft  again. 
Every  scene  came  before  him  as  if  to  mock  him. 
He  felt  once  more  the  touch  of  her  little  hand  ;  heard 
again  the  sound  of  her  voice  as  it  used  to  ring 
through  the  old  house  and  about  the  grounds  ;  saw 
her  and  Bob  as  children  romping  about  his  feet,  and 
he  gave  a  great  gulp  as  he  thought  how  desolate  the 
house  was  now.  He  sat  up  in  his  saddle  stifferthan 

ever.  D him  !  he  would  enter  his  very  house, 

and  there  to  his  face  and  hers  denounce  him  for  his 
baseness  :  and  he  pushed  his  horse  to  a  trot.  Up  to 
the  yard  gate  he  rode,  and,  dismounting,  hitched  his 
horse  to  the  fence,  and  slamming  the  gate  fiercely 
behind  him,  stalked  up  the  walk  with  his  heavy 
whip  clutched  fast  in  his  hand.  Up  the  walk  and  up 
the  steps,  without  a  pause,  his  face  set  as  grim  as 
rock,  and  purple  with  suppressed  emotion ;  for  a 
deluge  of  memories  was  overwhelming  him. 

The  door  was  shut ;  they  had  locked  it  on  him  ; 
but  he  would  burst  it  in,  and — Ah !  what  was 
that? 

The  door  flew  suddenly  open  ;  there  was  a  cry,  a 
spring,  a  vision  of  something  swam  before  his  eyes, 
and  two  arms  were  clasped  about  his  neck,  while  he 
was  being  smothered  with  kisses  from  the  sweetest 


Polly.  229 

mouth  in  the  world,  and  a  face  made  up  of  light  and 
laughter,  yet  tearful  too,  like  a  dew-bathed  flower, 
was  pressed  to  his,  and  before  the  Colonel  knew  it 
he  had,  amid  laughter  and  sobs  and  caresses,  been 
borne  into  the  house,  and  pressed  down  at  the  dain- 
tiest little  breakfast-table  eyes  ever  saw,  set  for 
three  persons,  and  loaded  with  steaming  dishes,  and 
with  a  great  fresh  julep  by  the  side  of  his  plate,  and 
Torm  was  standing  behind  his  chair,  and  Bob  was 
helping  him  to  "  oystchers,"  while  Polly,  with  dimp- 
ling face,  was  attempting  the  exploit  of  pouring 
out  his  coffee  without  moving  her  arm  from  around 
his  neck. 

The  first  thing  he  said  after  he  recovered  his 
breath  was,  "  Where  did  you  get  this  mint  ?" 

Polly  broke  into  a  peal  of  rippling,  deli- 
cious laughter,  and  tightened  the  arm  about  his 
neck. 

"Just  one  more  squeeze,"  said  the  Colonel;  and 
as  she  gave  it  he  said,  with  the  light  of  it  all  break- 
ing on  him,  "  Damme  if  I  don't  sell  you!  or,  if  I 
can't  sell  you,  I'll  give  you  away — that  is,  if  he'll 
come  over  and  live  with  us." 

That  evening,  after  the  great  dinner,  at  which 
Polly  had  sat  in  her  old  place  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  Bob  at  the  foot,  because  the  Colonel  in- 
sisted on  sitting  where  Polly  could  give  him  one 
more  squeeze,  the  whole  plantation  was  ablaze  with 
"Christmas,"  and  DrinkwaterTorm,  steadying  him- 


230  In  Ole   Virginia. 

self  against  the  sideboard,  delivered  a  discourse  on 
peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  men  so  powerful 
and  so  eloquent  that  the  Colonel,  delighted,  rose 
and  drank  his  health,  and  said,  "  Damme  if  I  ever 
sell  him  again !  " 


^Authors  Editions. 

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BOOKS. 


STRANGE  CASE  OF 
DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE. 

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YEAR  1751. 

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THE  MERRY  MEN,  AND  OTHER 

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NEW  ARABIAN   NIGHTS. 

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For  bis  marvels,  space  and  time  are  as  naught.  No  bound- 
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it  is  by  the  simplest  of  straightforward  truth-telling  that  he 
brings  us  under  his  spell.  .  .  .  Mr.  Stevenson  has, 
too,  like  Hawthorne,  the  perfect  sense  of  proportion  which 
never  permits  an  exaggeration  or  a  distortion." — THE 
NATION. 


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us  incarnate  the  two  elements  in  a  man's  nature,  and  lets  them  fight  it  out  before  our 
eyes."— N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

KIDNAPPED : 

BEING     MEMOIRS     OF     THE     ADVENTURES     OF     DAVID 
BALFOUR    IN    THE   YEAR    1751  : 

How  he  was  Kidnapped  and  Cast  away ;  his  Sufferings  in  a  Desert  Isle; 
his  Journey  in  the  Wild  Highlands ;  his  acquaintance  -with  ALAN 
BRECK  STEWART  and  other  notorious  Highland  Jacobites ;  with  all 
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SHAWS,  falsely  so-called. 
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with  every  sentence  he  is  reading  a  true  history,  while  the  author's  wonderful  power 
of  description,  his  cunning  discrimination  of  character,  and  his  charming  English, 
combine  to  make  the  story  irresistible."— Boston  Courier. 

THE  MERRY  MEN, 

And     Other    Tales     and.     K"at>l©». 

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Sea  in  Sandag  Bay.  Chap.  IV.— The  Gale.  Chap.  V.— A  Man  Out  of 
the  Sea.  WILL  o'  THE  MILL.  MARKHEIM.  THRAWN  JANET.  OLALLA. 
THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD.  A  story  in  eight  chapters. 

"  Everything  in  the  collection  is  worthy  of  its  remarkable  author ;  in  many 
respects  a  writer  unique,  in  certain  demesnes  of  fiction." — Independent. 

"  Thera  are  intensely  dramatic  scenes  which  sustain  the  interest  of  the  reader,  and 
a  freshness,  a  novelty  of  plot  which  convince  him  that  all  the  stories  have  not  yet 
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of  the  Hansom  Cabs. 
The  Rajah's  Diamond: — Story  of  the  Bandbox.      Story  of  the  Young 

Man  in  Holy  Orders.     Story  of  the  House  with  the  Green  Blinds. 

The  Adventure  of  Prince  P'lorizel  and  a  Detective. 
The  Pavilion  on  the  Links.     A  Lodging  for  the  Night.      The  Sire  de 

Maletroifs  Door.     Providence  and  the  Guitar. 

THE  DYNAMITER. 

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Dames — Somerset's  Adventure :  The  Superfluous  Mansion,  Narra- 
tive of  the  Spirited  Old  Lady,  Zero's  Tale  of  the  Explosive  Bomb — 
Desborough's  Adventure:  The  Brown  Box,  Story  of  the  Fair  Cuban— 
Epilogue  of  the  Cigar  Divan. 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES. 

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language,  and  yet  altogether  poetical.  We  do  not  know  anything  in  the  whole  range 
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alone."— Pott  Mall  Gazette. 


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Manse,  Memoirs  of  an  Islet,  Thomas  Stevenson,  Talk  and  Talkers,  The 
Character  of  Dogs,  A  Penny  Plain  and  Two  Pence  Colored,  A  Gossip  on 
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English  Admirals,  Some  Portraits  by  Raeburn,  Child's  Play,  Walking 
Tours,  Pan's  Pipes,  A  Plea  for  Gas  Lamps. 

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the  book  is  sure  to  excite  the  greatest  interest. 


NEW  DOLLAR  NOVELS 

PUBLISHED  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


Each  One  Volume,  i2mo  Cloth,         -        -        -        $i.oc 


VALENTINO. 

By  WILLIAM  WALDORF  ASTOR. 

Price  reduced  to  One  Dollar. 

A  romance  founded  upon  the  history  of  the  Borgia  family  in  the  early  pait 
of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  during  the  lifetime  of  Pope  Alexander  VI. 
and  his  son  Caesar  Borgia.  It  presents  a  remarkably  carefully  studied 
picture  of  those  stirring  times.  A  story  full  of  spirit  and  action. 

"  The  details  of  workmanship  are  excellent.  Mr.  Astor  writes,  appar- 
ently, out  of  a  full  mind  and  a  thorough  interest  in  his  subject." — Atlantic 
Monthly. 

"  His  manner  is  dignified  and  his  English  pleasant  and  easy." — Boston 
Advertiser. 

"It  is  well  called  a  romance,  and  no  romance  indeed  could  be  more 
effective  than  the  extraordinary  extract  from  Italian  annals  which  it  preserve? 
in  such  vivid  colors." — JV.  Y.  Tribune. 

"A  signal  addition  to  the  really  superior  novels  of  the  season." —  Tht 
Independent. 

"  One  cannot  read  far  in  *  Valentino  '  before  perceiving  that  Mr.  Astor 
has  written  a  very  creditable  romance  in  the  historical  field,  and  one  that 
would  not  have  lacked  readers  had  the  name  been  left  off  the  title." — N.  Y« 
Timtf. 


fl  SCXIBNEKS  NEW  DOLLAR   NOVELS. 

THE    LAST  MEETING. 

By  BRANDED  MATTHEWS. 

Mr,  Matthews  combines  successfully  the  old  style  of  story,  full  of  plot,  and 
the  modern  more  subtle  rr  ethods.  The  motif  is  most  original  and  clear, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  author  shows  an  uncommon  literary  dexterity. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  New  York. 

"It  is  an  amusing  story  and  the  interest  is  carried  through  it  from 
beginning  to  end." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  wholesome  society  novel,  a  strikingly  dramatic  and  thrilling  tale, 
and  a  tender  love  story,  every  word  of  which  is  worth  reading." — Critic. 

"A  simple  but  ingenious  plot,  there  is  force  and  liveliness  to  the 
narrative,  and  the  pictures  of  New  York  social  life  are  done  by  one  '  to  the 
manner  born.'  " — Boston  Post. 

"A  clever  and  thoroughly  original  tale,  full  of  dramatic  situations,  and 
replete  with  some  new  and  most  expressive  Americanisms." — Literary 
World. 


WITHIN   THE    CAPES. 

By  HOWARD  PYLE, 

Author  of  "The  Merry  Adventures  of  Robin   Hood,"  etc.,  etc. 

Mr,  Pyle's  novel  is,  first  of  all,  an  absorbingly  interesting  one.  As  a  sea 
story,  pure  and  simple,  it  compares  well  with  the  best  of  (.la  k  Russell's 
tales,  but  it  is  much  more  ;  the  adventures  of  Tom  Granger,  the  hero,  are 
by  no  means  confined  to  sea  life.  Though  never  sensational,  there  are 
plenty  of  exciting  incidents  and  ever  a  well-developed  mystery.  The 
plot  is  of  the  good  old-fashioned  thrilling  sort  and  the  style  strong  and 
vigorous. 

"Mr.  Pyle  proves  himself  a  master  of  nautical  technique  and  an 
accurate  observer.  .  .  .  His  style  is  good  and  fresh,  and  in  its  concise- 
ness resembles  that  of  Marryatt." — N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"The  style  is  so  quaint,  so  felicitous,  so  quietly  humorous,  that  on« 
must  smile,  wonder  and  admire." — Hartford  Post. 


SCXIBNEX'S   NEW   DOLLAR    NOVELS.  8 

A   WHEEL    OF   FIRE. 

By  ARLO  BATES. 

Mr.  Bates'  novel  is  sc  unusually  strong  in  its  conception  that  it  makes  a 
strong  impression  on  this  account  alone.  It  is  not  only  a  striking  .-tory, 
but  is  told  with  remarkable  power  and  intensity. 

"A  very  powerful  performance,  not  only  original  in  its  conception,  out 
full  of  fine  literary  art." — George  Parsons  Lathrop. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  stories  of  the  year." — Chicago  Inter- Ocean. 

"A  carefully  written  story  of  much  originality  and  possessing  great 
interest." — Albany  Argus. 

11  The  plot  is  clearly  conceived  and  carefully  worked  out ;  the  story  is 
well  told  with  something  of  humor,  and  with  a  skillful  management  of 
dialogue  and  narrative." — Art  Interchange. 


ROSES    OF   SHADOW. 

By  T.  R.  SULL1YAN. 

A  most  pleasant  revival  of  a  type  of  novel  that  has  been  growing  rare.  A 
story  well  told,  with  the  charm  of  a  sincere  self-respecting  *'^e  that 
does  not  lose  itself  in  a  search  after  effects  and  oddities,  and  with  a  strong 
and  healthy  plot,  not  frittered  away  by  perpetual  analysis. 

"  The  characters  of  the  story  have  a  remarkable  vividness  and  individ- 
uality— every  one  of  them — which  mark  at  once  Mr.   Sullivan's  strongest 

promise  as  a  novelist All  of  Mr.  Sullivan's  men  are  excellent. 

John  Musgrove,  the  grimly  pathetic  old  beau,  sometimes  reminds  us  of  a 
touch  of  Thackeray." — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


ACROSS    THE    CHASM. 

c/7  STORY  OF  NORTH  AND  SOUTH. 

A  novel  full  of  spirit  and  wit  which  takes  up  a  new  situation  in  American  life, 
The  cleverness  -of  the  sketching,  the  admirable  fairness  of  the  whole, 
and  a  capital  plot  make  the  novel  one  of  the  brightest  of  recent  years. 

"A  story  which  will  at  once  attract  readers  by  its  original  and  striking 
Qualities." — Journal  of  Commerce,  N,  Y. 


«  SCRIBNER'S   NEW   DOLLAR    NOVELS. 

"Nothing  can  be  more  freshly  and  prettily  written  than  the  last  few 
pages,  when  Louis  and  Margaret  meet  and  peace  is  made.     It  is  a  little  idyl 

of  its  kind 'Across  the  Chasm  '  not  being  an  impalpable  story, 

but  having  a  live  young  woman  and  a  live  man  in  its  pages,  deserves  hearty 
commendation." — N.  Y.  Times. 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE. 

By  Lieut.  J.  D.  J.  KELLEY,  U.S.N. 

"A  Desperate  Chance"  is  as  absorbing  as  only  a  novel  can  be  when  told 
with  the  verve  of  such  a  writer  as  Lieut.  Kelley.  It  is  a  fresh,  stirring  story, 
with  sufficient  adventure,  romance  and  mystery  to  keep  the  reader  absorbed. 
It  may  safely  be  said  that  if  the  tale  is  once  begun  it  will  be  finished  in  a 
continuous  reading,  and  we  think  of  it  as  one  of  the  stories  we  will  always 
remember  distinctly,  and  which  was  well  worth  the  reading. 

"A  stirring  sea  story." — New  York  Star. 

"  Lieut.  J.  D.  J.  Kelley's  novel,  'A  Desperate  Chance,'  is  of  the  good 
old-fashioned,  exciting  kind.  Though  it  is  a  sea  story,  all  the  action  is  not 
on  board  ship.  There  is  a  well-developed  mystery,  and  while  it  is  in  no 
sense  sensational  readers  may  be  assured  that  they  will  not  be  tired  out  by 
analytical  descriptions,  nor  will  they  find  a  dull  page  from  first  to  last." — 
Brooklyn  Union. 

"  'A  Desperate  Chance'  is  a  sea  story  of  the  best  sort.  It  possesses  the 
charm  and  interest  which  attach  us  to  sea  life,  but  it  does  not  bewilder  the 
reader  by  nautical  extremes,  which  none  but  a  professional  sailor  can  under- 
stand. 'A  Desperate  Chance'  reminds  us  of  Mr.  Clark  Russell's  stories, 
but  Lieut.  Kelley  avoids  the  professional  fault  into  which  Mr.  Russell  has 
fallen  so  often.  The  book  is  extraordinarily  interesting,  and  this  nowadays 
is  the  highest  commendation  a  novel  can  have." — Boston  Courier 


COLOR  STUDIES. 

By  T.  A.  JANVIER  (Ivory  Black). 

A  series  of  most  delightful  pictures  of  artists'  life  in  New  York  which  first 
attracted  the  attention  of  readers  to  Mr.  Janvier  as  a  writer  of  very 
notable  short  stories.  Certainly  among  stories  dealing  with  artists'  sur 
roundings  there  have  never  been  written  better  tales  than  these  which 
are  collected  in  this  beautiful  little  volume. 
"The  style  is  bright,  piquant  and  graphic,  and  the  plots  are  full  of 

humor  and  originality," — Boston  Traveler. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

PUBLISHERS, 
743  £r  745  Broadway,  New  York* 


POPULAR  BOOKS  IN  PAPER 


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J.  S.  of  Dale 
Saxe-Holm  Stories 
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Andrew  Lang 
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The  Christmas  Wreck,  and  other  Stories.. 50 
The  Lady,  or  the  Tiger?  and  other  Stories. 50 

Rudder  Grange GO 

Dr.  Sevier. . . ." 50 

Old  Creole  Days.  In  two  parts;  each  complete  30 

A  Secret  of  the  Sea,  and  other  Stories 50 

The  Last  Meeting 50 

Face  to  Face 50 

Judith.     A  Chronicle  of  Old  Virginia 50 

The  Jesuit's  Ring.  A  Romance  of  Mt.  Desert  50 

A  Child  of  the  Century 50 

Strango  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.  .25 

Kidnapped 50 

The  Merry  Men,  and  other  Tales  and  Fables . .  35 

That  Lass  O'Lowries 50 

Earlier  Stories  ;  Lindsey's  Luck 30 

Pretty  Polly  Pemberton 40 

Kathleen 40 

Theo 30 

Miss  Crespigny. 30 

In  Partnership  :  Studies  in  Story-telling. .  .50 

An  Echo  of  Passion 50 

Newport ;  a  Novel. . . , 50 

In  the  Distance 50 

Guerndalo  ;  an  Old  Story 50 

First  Series.  Second  Series.  Each  complete.  50 

Across  tho  Chasm.     A  Novel 50 

The  Diamond  Lens,  and  other  Stories 50 

The  Mark  of  Cain 25 

An  American  Four-in-Hand  in  Britain 25 

The  Irish  Question 10 

The  America's  Cup.     Illustrated 50 

The  Russians  at  the  Gates  of  Herat 50 

John  Bull  and  His  Island 50 

An  Apache  Campaign  in  the  Sierra  Madre.50 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

and  745  ^Broadway,  New  York. 


STORIES  BY  AMERICAN  AUTHORS. 


A  collection  of  the  most  noteworthy  stories  written  in 
recent  years,  not  hitherto  printed  in  book  form,  now  pub- 
lished by  arrangement  with  the  authors. 

I. — WHO  WAS  SHE  ?  Bayard  Taylor.  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CASE,  Bran- 
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IX.— MARSE  CHAN,  Thomas  Nelson  Page.  MR.  BIXBY'S  CHRISTMAS  VISITOR, 
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FRANK  R.  STOCKTON'S  WRITINGS. 


NEW  UNIFORM  EDITION. 

THE  BEE-MAN   OF  ORN,  and  Other  Fanciful  Tales. 
THE  LADY,   OR   THE   TIGER?  and  Other  Stories. 
THE  CHRISTMAS  WRECK,  and  Other  Stories. 
THE   LATE   MRS.  NULL. 
RUDDER   GRANGE. 

*#*  The  set,  five  vols.,  $6.25 ;  each,  $1.25. 

RUDDER  GRANGE.  NEW  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION.  With 
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THE  LADY,  OR  THE  TIGER?  and  Other  Stories. 
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paper,  50  cents. 
RUDDER  GRANGE.     i2mof  paper,  60  cents. 


A  JOLLY   FELLOWSHIP.    Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.50. 
THE  STORY  OF   VITEAU.     Illustrated,  i2mo,  $1.50. 
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ROUNDABOUT    RAMBLES    IN    LANDS    OF    FACT 

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CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S  SONS,   Publishers, 

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UNIFORM  LIBRARY  EDITION. 

MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT'S  NOVELS. 


THAT  LASS   O   LOWRIES. 

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Transctipt. 

<A  FAIR  BARBARIAN. 

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"  A  particularly  sparkling  story,  the  subject  being  the  young  heiress  of 
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LOUISIANA. 

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HA  WORTH'S 

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SURLY  TIM, 

AND     OTHER     STORIES. 
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CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

&•  745  'Broadway,  New  York. 


A   NEW  AND    UNIFORM  EDITION. 

GEORGE  W.  CABLE'S 
WRITINGS. 

THE    GRANDISSIMES:   A  Story  of  Creole  Life. 

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reduced  to  $1.23. 

Mr.  Cable  has  given  this  volume  a  slight  revision  as  regards  dialect, 
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OLD  CREOLE  DAYS. 

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POPULAR   EDITION  OF  OLD  CREOLE  DAYS. 

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"  Here  is  true  art  at  work.  Here  is  poetry,  pathos,  tragedy,  humor. 
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beauty.  Here  is  a  local  color,  with  strong  drawing.  Here,  in  this  little 
volume,  is  life,  breath,  and  blood.  The  author  of  this  book  is  an  artist,  and 
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A  NEW  BOOK  BY  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS. 


FREE  JOE, 

AND  OTHER  GEORGIAN  SKETCHES. 

*By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS. 


12mo. 


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"  His  stories  have  a  thrill  in  them  that  proves  their  author  to 
have  the  master-touch." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"  Joel  Chandler  Harris  has  a  genuine  and  a  great  talent  for 
the  narration  of  simple  stories,  and  this  is  a  good  specimen  of  his 
talent."— j?.  H.  Stoddard,  in  the  N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

"Joel  Chandler  Harris  has  added  to  his  reputation  as  a  de- 
lineator of  negro  life  and  character,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  a  new 
one  in  the  line  of  story-telling." — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

"  Mr.  Joel  Chandler  Harris  has  here  a  story  of  a  very  different 
kind  from  anything  he  has  previously  done,  which  he  calls  '  Aunt 
Fountain's  Prisoner.'  Apart  from  its  interest  as  a  story,  it  has  a 
peculiar  interest  as  portraying  one  new  phase  of  the  '  New  South,' 
with  which  Mr.  Harris  shows  himself  to  be  in  thorough  sympathy." — 
Albany  Argus. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


•IS: 


